


come on honey give yourself completely

by unwindmyself



Series: 'cause there's no salvation for a bad girl [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Autism Spectrum, Backstory, Blindfolds, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Conscientious Vampire Behavior, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Dom/sub, Exposition, F/F, Feelings, Female Friendship, Femslash, Fetish Clubs, Gags, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Latex, Leather, Muzzles, Mystery, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Submission, Nonverbal Communication, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Problematic Vampire Behavior, Public Kink, Rope Bondage, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Spreader Bars, Telepathy, Vampire Family, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: Wanda rather needs some guidance. Natasha is glad to give it.





	1. and for you I keep my legs apart and forget about my tainted heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young vampire Wanda is delivered into Natasha's care and teaching for a little while. Lessons in feeding etiquette and delayed gratification begin almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this universe grew.
> 
> Wanda is, as you might expect, a rather damaged young woman, and that will continue to become apparent, but the kinky shit is a coping mechanism she chose for herself and really likes, and Natasha is a very good domme. The "Problematic Vampire Behavior" tag refers not to them but a different character they encounter.
> 
> This is set in the _True Blood_ universe as always, so conventions (synthetic blood, fairies, etc.) are borrowed from that mythology, though elaborated on in some cases.

The new one is kneeling at Natasha’s feet, eyes respectfully lowered and hands folded demurely in her lap. Natasha has intentionally kept her a mystery: she purposefully didn’t ask the boys a thing about her, not who she is or where she’s from. All she knows is that she’s not anyone’s child, just their foundling, just a young stray they took in, just now ready to go out adventuring on her own.

This makes her unknown and fascinating, so exactly Natasha’s type.

Those same boys left the girl here this week, while they (well, Steve and Sam) tend to some of their usual noble business elsewhere; they’re hoping Natasha will give her a crash course in certain (feeding-related) aspects of respectable vampire behavior, teach her the lessons she hadn’t learned before they found her and that they can’t teach her themselves (neither of them drink from humans if they can help it, not anymore).

“Look at me,” Natasha finally says, once she’s memorized every detail of the girl’s posture and bowed head and long tangled hair, and the girl does.

Perhaps she’s misunderstood what her new family intended with this crash course (or she’s making it clear that she wants it to go a certain and rather different way, though not one Natasha is adverse or unused to): her green eyes flash wildly, but there’s a muzzle made of black leather strapped across her jaw. _Fascinating_.

“What do I call you?” Natasha asks like a test.

The girl mumbles something that could be “Anna” (any harder sounds don’t make it past the leather, which isn’t a surprise).

Natasha crooks a finger to summon the girl forward, and she watches as the girl rises and moves toward her with the kind of grace she herself clearly isn’t aware of. “I don’t think this was Steve or Sam’s suggestion,” she remarks, motioning to the gag. Neither of them are vanilla (none of her many lovers are, it wouldn’t really work in the long term) but considering what she can assume about the girl’s rather fragile emotional state, she’s fairly sure they wouldn’t have jumped to this conclusion.

The girl shakes her head.

“I’m removing it for now,” Natasha says, and she does, working on each buckle carefully and efficiently and leaving it hanging around the girl’s neck like a warning. “Once more, your name.”

“Wanda,” the girl says, clear now. Her accent isn’t so different from the one that Natasha scrubbed from her own tongue centuries ago, and her attitude is also familiar when she glances down at the muzzle and adds, “This was my own idea, in fact. I have very poor impulse control, which you may already know, and I choose to wear it when I must be among humans so as to remind myself not to bite.”

“There are no humans here, milashka,” Natasha says.

“But there were humans on the way,” Wanda replies, and then she smirks. She has an idea, she’s figured out more about Natasha in advance than Natasha knew about her, and she may as well jump in, because as strange as her desire may be she has a feeling this is the place it’ll be well-received. “And if I am here to be taught by you, Duchess Natasha, I thought it polite to let you choose how it is applied and when it should come off. I’m yours, no?”

“We’ll see,” Natasha replies, but she too is smiling. “Give me your story, then we’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

They go to the dining room, where bottles of A+ are waiting for them. Natasha sits at the head of the table, leaning back in her chair with one leg crossed over the other grandly, while Wanda  takes the seat on her left side.

“My twin brother was killed trying to save me from what I now am,” Wanda begins, savoring in the drama of the sad story (it’s clearly so she doesn’t let herself break down over it, but she does have a certain admirable performative nature as well). “And when we were younger, our parents were killed doing likely the same thing.”

Natasha tilts her head, and it dawns on her all at once, the mysterious allure she’d noticed. (Not to be confused with the understandable allure.) “You have fae in you.”

“Yes,” Wanda says, clearly glad of the older woman’s understanding. It saves her from having to give lengthy explanations of what that means and why people were killed in relation to it. “My fairy ancestor is very distant, but that’s enough sometimes. I was unlucky enough to be born showing fairy traits, and because of it, the thing that killed my brother made me _this_.” A vampire. A fairy vampire, which is even rarer (not entirely unheard of, but very unusual). “I was as a curiosity or convenience to him, and with what he thought would be an eternal supply of my blood, he was free of the night.”

“Loathsome,” Natasha hisses.

“He didn’t realize that all he’d really done was make me strong enough to kill him,” Wanda continues, voice flat as she nonchalantly sips at her dinner. “I bided my time and then one night when he least suspected it I stunned him with my light and I ripped out his heart.”

Natasha knows she doesn’t mean that metaphorically, and she nods in approval. She herself never got that kind of closure, and it’s both admirable and enviable. “But then you were alone,” she prompts, careful not to say anything too leading. She can tell this story needs to be told just as Wanda wants to tell it.

“Alone and afraid,” Wanda agrees matter-of-factly. “I was something that I hated, something I couldn’t control. I did not want to become a monster, but I didn’t know how to stop myself from killing if I was faced with humans. I drank a few of them dry and then hated myself for it, and after that I swore to starve myself before I hurt anyone again.”

“Was this before TruBlood was invented?” Natasha asks, sort of as a joke. Before TruBlood, these would have been the only options, but given that she knows Wanda is still a fairly young vampire she’s fairly sure she _couldn’t_ have been made before TruBlood hit the market. And besides, none of that is the point of the story.

“In order to get that I would need money, which I had none of,” Wanda says wryly. She sees the dark humor in this as well, luckily. “In order to get money, I would need to get a job, which would put me around the very humans I was trying to avoid. And honestly, I didn’t want to live as this.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Natasha says. She had never surrendered to such impulses (even as a human, she’d been the “do what it takes to survive” sort, she’d had to be) but she does understand the desperation, recklessness, and self-loathing that would feed them.

“As you can imagine, that didn’t work,” Wanda continues, chuckling though it’s not funny. “I should have just suicided properly instead of holing up and waiting, but I didn’t have the nerve. Even as I suffered slowly, I didn’t have it. It was by mistake that Steve and Sam found me, near to emaciated and sobbing in an old warehouse I’d chosen to set up in. They were on one of their charity missions.” She cracks another smile. “And I was a charity case like few others.”

“They do love those,” Natasha says instead of contradicting her (she knows that wouldn’t serve any purpose; she wouldn’t let her own self-deprecation be challenged either).

“They brought me back with them, folded me into their family, brought me back to health, and by now they’ve managed to coax me out of wanting to die,” Wanda says, too blithely. “They’re what I’ve so long been missing.” And then, off of Natasha’s curious glance (that of any vampire discussing family relations, in truth) she adds, “They are as fathers to me, proper fathers. I couldn’t be intimate with either of them.”

Natasha’s expression stays carefully blank as she asks, “Would I be too bold to ask who you _are_ intimate with?” She doesn’t mean to be territorial over a girl she’s just met, even if that girl is clearly interested in belonging to her and being someone to be territorial of, but she can’t help but be curious.

“Perhaps if we were humans you would be,” Wanda muses, too casually, “or if I hadn’t showed up on your doorstep in self-imposed sensory deprivation. But we’re past that shyness, I think.” Natasha nods, apparently amused by her bluntness, so Wanda continues, “I did sleep with Bucky. I’ve kissed Sharon, too, but we haven’t slept together yet. I haven’t met too many other vampires yet, in your circle or otherwise. Hard to socialize when you’re half-infirm.”

“Hm,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “And speaking of your accessory…”

Wanda shrugs, ambivalent. “As I suggested, it’s not always sexual,” she says. “I wouldn’t like it if someone else forced it on me, because often when I do choose it, it’s for the feeling of safety and restriction. It’s a reminder to hold back, a tool that makes me do.”

“But that’s not all,” Natasha prompts.

“No,” Wanda admits, though she knows she’s only giving part of an explanation yet. “Sometimes I don’t like talking, and sometimes I can’t. That’s always been true, since I was a child, but I realized that in the life I have now, it’s less complicated to signal straightaway that I’m not talking. It’s good for listening, too.”

“And the other times?” Natasha asks, and they both know that she means the times relating to how and why Wanda knelt for her and called her “Duchess.”

“Sometimes I just like it,” Wanda says, grinning shyly before adding (just as Natasha expected), “I think I would like it if you had it on me when _you_ liked.”

“You’re presumptuous, but luckily I find it charming,” Natasha declares, laughing throatily and reaching to stroke the girl’s hand. “I’m willing to experiment.”

“I’m honored, Duchess,” Wanda says. “And grateful for our introduction.”

“I wouldn’t tell your fathers all the details, milashka,” Natasha says wryly.

“They know I’m here, and whether or not they want to consider the implications they know about this,” Wanda says, waving to her muzzle.  
“But they don’t need to know what you do when you’re here or wearing that.”

 

* * *

 

Wanda offers to give Natasha the daylight, because it’s one of the few rare things she knows she can give and because it seems right, but Natasha has other plans for their first session, and they involve nighttime. “I’m just trying to see what I’m working with,” she says.

It shouldn’t be so surprising that she means it in every way.

An hour and a half past sunset, then, once Wanda is dressed to her Duchess’ satisfaction (almost no clothes that she brought with her, almost all clothes that Natasha loaned her), they climb into Natasha’s roadster. “Unfortunately, you might be a little uncomfortable on the ride over,” she smirks, nodding to the way Wanda’s arms are bound behind her and therefore pressed into the seat, “but it seems kinder than walking you over.”

Wanda snorts with laughter. “At least I’m not the one in four-inch heels,” she says.

They get out at what even Wanda (who’s inexperienced in such matters) can tell is a high-end club, a very particular sort catering to certain interests, which is to say fetish, and she has a flash of worry. When she goes out with her leathers usually, she hides behind a scarf and possibly a hood (the sweater kind, not the full-face kind she’s seeing on a few people in here). She’s not truly on display, not like _this_.

Luckily, Natasha senses her apprehension, and very softly she says, “This place is vampire-run, and you’d honestly look more out of place if I didn’t have you all dolled up. You’ll be fine, and you’re my very sweet girl besides.”

Wanda ducks her head, feeling shy and pleased all at once. “If you say so,” she murmurs.

Natasha kisses her cheek, calculated and casual, and tugs on her leash to pull her inside. “I just want to see how you do in this group,” she says. “How you react to the humans and how you present yourself to other vampires.” Since, in addition to her impulse problems with humans, they’re dealing with the issue of how Wanda isn’t exactly well-socialized with many vampires and doesn’t entirely trust most of them besides.

“Yes, Duchess,” Wanda says softly, and she looks momentarily worried. “But I’m not, ah…” Her mouth is left free for the moment.

“Testing your reactions,” Natasha says again. “Indulge me.”

So Wanda does, and she follows behind Natasha timidly. In addition to the leash, she’s more or less without her arms (they’re belted behind her, at the wrists and above the elbows, but all she’d have to do is tug hard to break free and in that way the restraint is more a test of discipline than anything) and without full mobility in her legs (they’re belted above the knees, keeping her steps tiny, though her ankles are left free, at least) but Natasha is gentle with her, not pushy. She just leads her in and sits her at a secluded table in the corner, nodding to apparent acquaintances all the while.

“How are you doing so far, feya?” Natasha asks after a few minutes have passed.

“Sitting still helps,” Wanda muses. “And there aren’t too many humans here yet.”

“And how are you doing as _mine_?” Natasha asks, regarding Wanda’s posture intently. She thinks she can tell, but she still has to ask, “Not too strained anywhere?”

Wanda shrugs as best she can, saying, “I’m here as yours, to learn as you please. If you like me like this, I like it too.”

“You wear it so naturally,” Natasha murmurs, twirling a lock of Wanda’s hair, and she seems about to go on when -

“Oh, cute,” croons a woman who seems to appear from nowhere. She’s got pink streaks in her brown-almost-black hair, seemingly unnecessary glasses (no vampire needs vision correction, but when Wanda asks later Natasha explains that they help with unusually extreme light sensitivity, and they suit her aesthetic besides), and a leather bracelet around her wrist; upon a second glance, Wanda sees that this matches the one worn by the shorter-haired woman with her. “She’s new.”

“She can hear you,” Wanda says, though cheerfully.

Still, it earns her a reproachful (though amused) glance from Natasha before she says, “Wanda, this is Victoria and Isabelle. Girls, this is Wanda, Steve and Sam’s newfound daughter.”

“And your pet for the evening,” Isabelle, the short-haired one, remarks. “She’s a sight. You’re a sight,” she adds after a moment, smirking playfully at Wanda.

“Thank you,” Wanda replies primly, then asking, “Part of the harem, or just acquaintances?”

“Somewhere between,” Isabelle says. “We’re not official, but we swing by to play sometimes.”

“I guess you’re still learning the ropes,” Victoria adds.

“Belts, actually,” Wanda replies without missing a beat.

“And she’s funny, too,” Isabelle smirks. “Good on you.”

The three older vampires fall into a conversation about something or other, but Wanda is only halfway paying attention. Her gaze keeps snagging on people in the club, her ears and mind keep picking up conversations and thoughts. It’s one downside of being a telepath, she thinks: put her in a crowd like this with any humans whatsoever and her focus is gone immediately.

About a third of the patrons here could go either way in terms of the kink they’re all here to explore, while another third are clearly the dominants and the final third are like her, submissive. They’re the ones she keeps noticing, not just because most of the humans fall into that category.  She’s horrified and a little fascinated by the brave and foolhardy ones who even gave their eyes up to their whomevers. That seems unbearably nervewracking, being led around in an unnatural dark but feeling all of these eyes on you - but it also seems peaceful, like there are even fewer things to worry about. Like you can just let go.

She’s shut her own eyes for a minute to see how well she’d take this when a particularly sweet-smelling human drifts past and - oh, shit. She pulls at the belts around her arms (they loosen but don’t come apart) and jerks in her seat, and immediately Natasha’s hand is on her cheek, soothing and stilling her both.

“How are you doing?” Natasha asks softly.

Wanda scrunches up her nose. “Ravenous,” she whispers.

“Wanna try to wait it out?” Natasha asks, sounding like she’s suggesting that she try that.

“Help me?” Wanda squeaks, embarrassed.

“Would one of you get her a bottle of O-?” Natasha asks, nodding to Victoria and Isabelle. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Of course you will,” Victoria says wryly, but she heads to the bar with an urgency that suggests that Wanda’s current situation was one of the recent topics of conversation. Wanda herself is even more embarrassed, but also thankful.

“You could pretend you’re taking deep breaths?” Isabelle suggests.

“Don’t,” Natasha says. “That may work to relax, but it doesn’t work for ignoring scents.”

“Eh, true,” Isabelle concedes. “You could always count.”

“What, heartbeats in that human’s neck?” Wanda snaps, and then she hurries to add, “I’m sorry, I’m being bratty.”

“A little,” Isabelle agrees, “but you’re allowed. I’m not saying I don’t believe that your Maker didn’t teach you this stuff, but I’m a little surprised that Steve and Sam haven’t.”

“It’s not their specialty,” Natasha says, petting Wanda’s hair. “Self-control and bloodlust have never been issues for them, and they’re both almost totally synthetic these days.”

“And Bucky doesn’t trust himself enough to teach someone else yet,” Wanda adds, since that had been discussed as an option too.

“Besides, I’m the oldest,” Natasha smirks. “I should know best.”

Victoria returns with the TruBlood and a straw, saying, “Hope this helps. This part sucks.”

“Even when you brought it on yourself?” Wanda cracks through a wince.

Natasha slaps her gently. “You did no such thing.”

“Fine, I didn’t,” Wanda sighs, though she clearly doesn’t believe it. “Do I get to drink that blood or just sniff it?” She wiggles her arms for emphasis - she can’t exactly hold a bottle like this.

“Still bratty,” Natasha chides. “It’s almost like you _want_ me to gag you again.”

Wanda shrugs innocently, because that’s not a horrible idea, but that wasn’t what she was specifically thinking. “What I want is dinner,” she says.

“Well, drink up,” Natasha says sweetly, sticking the straw in the bottle and holding it out.

Wanda gulps, and if she was a human she would be blushing furiously. “Oh,” she says. She thought she’d get her hands back for this, but she also doesn’t mind, strangely She feels spoiled. She likes that feeling.

“She’s into this,” Victoria remarks, eyeing Wanda. “Aren’t you, kid?”

“Not a kid,” Wanda says, letting the straw fall from her lips for a moment.

“Question still stands, feya,” Natasha says, sounding like she already knows the answer.

Wanda stammers a moment, then nods. “I feel like I shouldn’t, but I do,” she admits.

“Welcome to submission, babe,” Isabelle chuckles.

They chat and banter awhile longer as Wanda finishes her TruBlood, and everything is going swimmingly (a couple of humans even linger near the table without raising a commotion) until a man in a tailored suit approaches with his - well, his submissive, probably, she’s human and blonde and little and grinning shyly and dressed not unlike Wanda although she’s much less stringently bound - and says, “Any of you fancy a drink? My human’s been eyeing you, and I do like a bit of girl-on-girl.”

Almost instantly, Wanda is on her feet, staring at the girl through blown pupils. All she can say at first is “Please?”

Natasha fakes a sigh and tugs Wanda back down. “You already ate,” she chides.

“And he’s being creepy,” Isabelle adds, raising an eyebrow.

“Btu she’s so good,” Wanda mumbles.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “But so are you, you’re a good girl, and you can contain yourself.” Wanda pouts, but if it means she’ll please Natasha she’ll try.

“Hey,” Victoria says suddenly to the human girl, like she’s just realized something, “are you okay?”

“Of course she is,” the male vampire says, a little too quickly. “Tell them how okay you are, luv.”

“I’m great,” the girl says eagerly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and she fidgets with her lingerie in a way that snaps Wanda out of her trance. Suddenly all she hears is the disjointed, fragmented mumbling of this girl’s thoughts, and she goes from giddy to absolutely furious.

Natasha has to hold onto her, saying to the man, “Move along, we already have plans tonight.”

The man huffs, but he leads his girl away and out the club door. Wanda just stares after them, looking frantic, and she opens her mouth to protest, but before she can get so much as a syllable out Natasha whips out the muzzle. This makes Wanda whine, of course it does, but all Natasha says is, “This was the agreement. You act out, I control you. Your mouth is mine tonight. _You’re_ mine.”

Wanda sighs histrionically, but she lets Natasha fasten all the straps around her head, nice and snug. It’s a fairly elaborate piece, one she had custom-made with one of her first bits of allowance from her new family (Steve was the most embarrassed by this, but less by her desire to have it than by the fact that there were nights she’d just walk around the house wearing a muzzle like it was nothing out of the ordinary) and one she’s proud to show off. It fastens with no less than four sets of straps: one that goes under her chin to snug up the fit under her jaw, one at the bottom of her head, and one that goes across her cheeks and connects to the last, which goes over the top of her head. It’s secure and (while she’s had an easy enough time camouflaging it in the past, since there are no annoying straps crossing her face) she knows it looks incredible.

“I wouldn’t say this is much of a punishment,” Isabelle remarks, watching Wanda’s eyes start to glaze over contentedly as the straps get tightened. “Is it, huh?”

“It’s not punishment at all,” Natasha says archly. “It’s a training tool.” She smirks. “And an incentive, and a bit of fun.”

Victoria and Isabelle exchange knowing glances. They’ve both been there (they both switch, it’s only natural). “Fair, fair,” Isabelle says.

“Seemed like she might have read something off of the trophy, though,” Victoria suggests, and Wanda nods again, insistent and a little manic. “Let me guess, she’s glamoured?”

“You don’t need to read minds to know that,” Natasha says, and after Wanda mumbles something else, looking troubled, she adds, “If there’s rescuing to do, tonight isn’t the night. They’ve left, and you’re in no state for it, even if I undo you.”

“We can try to track them,” Isabelle offers. “Intervene if we have to. Would that help?”

Wanda nods. If any of them were to look, they’d see her fingers flexing rhythmically behind her back, but she’s managing to keep calm otherwise.

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Victoria promises, and quick as anything she and Isabelle rise, kiss Natasha’s cheek and then Wanda’s muzzle, and head out the door.

At this point describing Wanda’s expression as sullen is an understatement, but Natasha stays firm. “Sometimes,” she sighs, “you have to play the long game. It’s hard, but it’s the smart thing to do.”

Wanda squeaks indignantly, squirms, then remembers the magic trick: she snaps her fingers, loud and obvious. She only does once, though, so all Natasha does is unbuckle the muzzle and leave it hanging in wait. The night’s not over, Wanda just needs to get something out. “She was shattered inside,” she gasps. “Her thoughts were barely there, like he’d been in her head so long she’d forgotten herself.” She shakes her head. “She was quiet and broken.”

“So Isabelle and Victoria will find her and save her,” Natasha promises. “I don’t think the girl who went a little crazy just smelling her would be the best rescuer, anyway. Sorry, feya.”

Wanda sighs. “I suppose that’s true,” she says, and then she shakes her head, like she’s trying to erase the memory. “Besides, I’m yours tonight.”

It’s obvious that Wanda wants a distraction, and that Natasha can provide. That’s what she does best. “Damn right,” she says, a little territorial, and she fixes the muzzle back in place before adding, “You’re beautiful like this.”

Wanda gazes at her lap shyly.

“It’s sweet the way you worry about people,” Natasha continues, “but right now is for me worrying about you.”

Wanda nods, feeling that phantom blush rise again.

“I did make sure you were fed,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “Were you really still hungry or were you just intoxicated by something new and sweet?”

It’s futile, but Wanda holds out two fingers, and after she realizes her hands are mostly hidden she mumbles, “Intoxicated,” except in her current state all that comes out is the vowels. This is something she’d not considered when she used the muzzle in the past: she’s usually either been going out and trying to accomplish some set goal as quickly as possible or she’s been at home, either not wanting to talk or literally not being able to (at least her vampire family has been quick to adjust to what nonverbal periods entail; her biological family tried, but didn’t always grasp it). When Natasha gags her, it’s to keep her from acting out, to remind her of her situation, to put her on a frequency that’s just for her Duchess.

And oh, her Duchess seems to enjoy her like this, allowing herself helplessness, responding in exaggerated facial expressions and muffled nonsense syllables. That enjoyment alone makes this worth it.

“Yeah,” Natasha says now. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But you can’t go around just… acting on impulse like that. We need to figure out ways around it.”

Wanda scrunches up her nose. A more conventional way than walking around in fetish gear, she knows that means.

“It seems obvious,” Natasha muses, “but your empathy is going to help, too. Remembering that whoever you’re enchanted by is _someone_.”

Wanda tilts her head.

“I’m not saying you have to figure out the life story of every human you sniff,” Natasha smirks, “but you have a gift most of us don’t. You can hear what makes people tick, why you should be careful with them.” Off Wanda’s doubtful expression she adds, “If they’re Neo-Nazis or serial killers or rapists or something, go ahead and snap their necks, but those aren’t worth drinking from, so you’ll save yourself that trouble.”

This makes Wanda giggle more than she likely should.

“That’s a cute sound,” Natasha remarks, smirking.

And of course Wanda murmurs a “thank you,” which Natasha pets her for, which makes Wanda purr, which makes Natasha pet her, and so on for a few minutes.

“Think about this, though,” Natasha says once they’ve broken that cycle. “Once you heard that girl, you wouldn’t have dreamed of biting her, but at first you were so caught up that you almost did something you’d regret.”

Wanda hangs her head, whimpering. That’s true, and it hurts to hear.

“So if you can teach yourself to listen for the truth sooner, you can keep yourself from fucking up,” Natasha says. “Get it?”

Wanda nods.

“And if that doesn’t work by itself, you can always opt for distractions,” Natasha adds. If the way she strokes Wanda’s hair is any indication, this means a wide range of things. The particular action isn’t inherently sexual, but it’s electrifying, and Natasha can tell (and might even think herself) that said electricity could lead to something more privately intimate. “Let’s go home,” she adds after a minute. “We made good progress tonight.”

Wanda is torn between being flattered by the praise and feeling oh so very ready to be in private with Natasha.

 

* * *

 

They don’t actually sleep in the same room that night, rather to Wanda’s disappointment, but the next evening they cross paths in the den, because of course they do, and Natasha says, “I was thinking we could stay in tonight.”

“Does this mean that the less frustrating part of my training begins tonight?” Wanda asks with a playful smirk.

“The more fun part, anyway,” Natasha corrects, offering her hand. “Come with me, let’s get started.”

Wanda does, taking in as-yet-unexplored hallways with wide eyes. Steve’s house is wonderful, but Natasha’s is the size of the entire apartment building she lived in as a child and about one hundred times nicer. She’s a little awestruck.

But that’s nothing compared to the feeling she gets when they step into the playroom. Hooks on the ceiling, a whole wall of toys, furniture both familiar and unusual - it’s overwhelming.

“Stoplights or snaps if it’s too much,” Natasha says.

“I promise,” says Wanda, though her voice is fainter than she’d like.

“What I want to start working on today is focus,” Natasha says. “Like how keeping you quiet makes you listen better, but applied to other senses.”

“Although I’m guessing you don’t have a practical way of keeping me from smelling things,” Wanda snarks.

Natasha laughs louder than the joke deserved. “Today it’s going to be sight and touch,” she says.

Wanda startles, just because she’d imagined this last night, in no uncertain terms. “I’ll try it,” she murmurs, nodding resolutely.

“That’s my good girl,” Natasha says, and she moves toward the wall. “Shut your eyes.”

So Wanda does, worrying her bottom lip. “What will this help me do?” she asks.

“Well,” Natasha says, “it might teach you to pick voices out of a crowd. And it might help you learn trust. And, like I said, it can be very… enhancing.”

Without pausing, she slips a blindfold over Wanda’s eyes. It’s a very formal one, leather lined with soft faux fur, and it hugs the contours of her face like it was made for her, like it’s a mask with no eyes. It dips low on the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks to help keep any light out at all, and for the briefest moment Wanda is terrified. Even now, in this endless absence of life, this strange Gehenna of sorts, she is technically a creature of _light_. Without that, what is she?

Natasha sees this hesitation, apparently, because she whispers, “Stoplights or snaps.”

It sounds like a shout. Still, Wanda shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good girl,” Natasha says. “Do you want a minute to get used to this before we move on?”

“I’ll be fine,” Wanda repeats, canting her head in the direction of her Duchess’ voice.

“Alright,” Natasha says, almost cautioningly. She can guess (correctly) that Wanda wants to impress her and will push herself to do so, which means that she has to monitor the situation even more closely than usual. “What’s the first thing you notice?’

Wanda’s lips turn up in a smirk. “The darkness?”

“Other than that, smartass,” Natasha chortles.

“Hm.” And Wanda takes a few seconds to really focus. The bonus-or-downside of vampires is that she doesn't hear what’s going on in their minds, so Natasha herself is quiet and undistracting. The temperature is unremarkable. There’s no particular scent. “The anticipation,” she murmurs. “The whole room feels electrically charged, like it’s waiting for something.”

“Are you sure that’s not just you?” Natasha teases, and she must be moving because her voice comes from all sides.

“No, the air is moving,” Wanda insists. “So is the silence.”

“How do you know?” Natasha asks.

“I can feel it,” Wanda says, and it’s strange to feel those, air and silence, but she means it. “They thrum against my skin, whispering, vibrating.”

“Interesting,” Natasha hums. “What if you couldn’t feel it?”

“How?” Wanda asks, laughing.

Natasha doesn’t reply, but suddenly Wanda feels her dress being removed, her body being maneuvered like she’s a life-sized doll, a layer of something tight and smooth and stretchy being eased onto her.

“What’s this?” she asks, feeling her eyebrows raise.

“Latex,” Natasha says, running a hand across Wanda’s back. It’s like being touched through four layers of plastic wrap: the sensation is slick, but muted. “Some people are wild about the aesthetic of it, but I think the sensation is more important.”

“It’s odd,” Wanda says. “Distracting.”

“Exactly,” Natasha replies, her smirk audible. “What do you notice now?”

“Tightness,” Wanda declares. “The pressure across my eyes is stronger because it feels like there’s a glove hugging my whole body.”

“And now?” Natasha asks in her ear, caressing her.

“You, but faintly,” Wanda says. “I have to really focus to feel you like I normally would.”

“Do you mind me dragging it out?” Natasha presses.

“I trust you,” Wanda replies, because neither “yes” or “no” is a true answer.

“Three steps forward,” Natasha says, moving away again, “then turn.”

Wanda does this, and her shins bump against some flat structure. “Did I go too far?”

“You’re perfect,” Natasha promises. “Arms up, legs spread.”

Wanda does _this_ , and she finds that whatever is behind her is taller than her, flat, equipped with… well. “This is a lesson in delayed gratification, isn’t it?”

“Oh, you have no idea, milashka,” Natasha murmurs. She fixes Wanda to the frame, standing spread-eagle, secured at wrists, ankles, waist, and most thrillingly throat. She’s perfectly spread and still, and though she seems content Natasha finds it harder to gauge her reactions with her eyes hidden, so she asks, “Green?”

“Green,” Wanda agrees, wiggling a little and thrilling in the futility of it. She’s stuck, no question. Bound and blind and at her Duchess’ mercy, her Duchess whose hands are drawing patterns on her body agonizingly slow, who’s whispering sweet (erotic) nothings in her ear, who’s moving from her spread arms and down over her oversensitive breasts and over her core and -

“I’ll be back in a little while, sweet girl,” Natasha whispers, and then she’s gone.

 

* * *

 

Time seems to freeze in the darkness. Wanda gives up trying to move pretty quickly, because she realizes that unless she bursts forth with her light and breaks her restraints entirely (therefore ruining the game and disappointing Natasha) she’s not going to be going anywhere. She realizes that she doesn’t mind this. She can tap and twirl her fingers, bite her lip, pretend to breathe, but that’s almost all of it. She talks to herself and then all at once she stops, because true silence is so rare for her anymore. She notices the growing heat in her abdomen and between her latexed legs.

And just when she thinks she may be here forever, Natasha’s body is pressed against hers, one knee tight against her center, one hand clipping a leash to the collar that comes away from the furniture, and she’s whispering, “What would me good girl do to have me touch her?”

“Anything,” Wanda murmurs, her voice sounding breathy despite that being a technical impossibility.

So Natasha undoes the cuffs, strips off the layer of latex, wraps her arms around Wanda and nuzzles into her neck. “Sweet girl, pretty girl, feyri-kin,” she murmurs. She still doesn’t remove that eyeless mask, though.

“For you, my Duchess Natasha,” Wanda whispers.

“I know you are,” Natasha says, laughing warmly. After stroking Wanda’s freshly bare and especially sensitive skin for half a minute, she pushes the girl to her knees, gentle but purposeful. “Hungry, feya?”

“Not - _oh_ ,” Wanda exclaims. She has no craving for blood, but - for Natasha? Easily. “Yes, please, Duchess.”

“Good girl,” Natasha hums. She pulls Wanda toward the couch by her leash, making her crawl, and once they’ve made it over Natasha says, “Hands behind your back.”

Wanda sighs playfully, but she’s not surprised. “If you like,” she says, obliging.

Natasha wastes no time in binding them, using silk rope instead of the belts now and opting for a more complicated boxtie. “I’d hate for you to be able to cheat your first time tasting me,” she says, just as playful.

“We couldn’t have that,” Wanda agrees.

 

* * *

 

Natasha doesn’t remove the blindfold-mask until they’ve relocated to the living room with the apparent intent of snuggling (actually snuggling!) through a film, and the rope harness stays even through that, even as Natasha leads Wanda into the big bedroom. “Do you think you could sleep like that?” she asks.

“Maybe,” Wanda says, which means no.

“How about in front?” Natasha asks as she undoes the ropes. It’s clear this is a trust exercise of sorts.

“I can try,” Wanda says.

“Arrange yourself as you usually would sleep,” Natasha instructs, and once Wanda has done this (wrists together in front of her breasts, very demure, Natasha thinks) she’s bound in place with the same ropes, snug but not constricting.

“It’s like a hug,” Wanda muses.

“Good,” Natasha says. She’s not the best snuggler, but she wants her new girl to feel adored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _milashka_ ; "cutie"  
>  _feya_ ; "fairy"  
>  _feyri-kin_ ; "fairy queen"


	2. in my mind I hear your song, it's playing while I'm dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda practices feeding and rediscovers an old trick. Natasha mostly enjoys showing her off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am autistic but I am not nonverbal, so call out if there's something I need to fix.

The third night of their little experiment, Natasha wakes Wanda by kissing her lips and freeing her arms. “We’re having company,” she says brightly. “Human.”

“Did Victoria and Isabelle find the girl?” Wanda asks, obviously and immediately hopeful. She rolls over and stretches, watching Natasha get ready as she waits for orders about how she should do herself.

“No,” Natasha says, braced for Wanda’s disappointment, “but Belle’s still on her tail, I promise. Tonight’s human has generously volunteered to distract you from that by helping teach you how to feed without killing.”

“Bit of a risk, isn’t it?” Wanda asks with one eyebrow raised.

“Less of one than you’d think,” Natasha smirks, holding up a steel ring on a strap, simple enough that it almost looks like a necklace. “You get to touch, you get to taste, but no teeth.”

Wanda smirks in spite of herself. “And I imagine you’d have me get a head start on that?”

“Dress and come right back,” Natasha says instead of answering, which means yes.

So Wanda pads off to “her” room and pulls on underwear, stockings, and a dress that’s short enough to be flirty but plain enough not to be presumptuous. She’s going for middle-of-the-road with this look, since she wasn’t told anything more specific and she wants to look good for company without being too flashy.

It works, because when she returns Natasha gives her an appraising nod. “Come here,” she says, and when Wanda does she gives her a deep kiss before asking, “Ready?”

“Yes, Duchess,” Wanda says, grinning smugly. “I seem to have come to the right place to indulge my oral fixation.”

“You did,” Natasha chuckles, slipping a finger between Wanda’s lips to get her to open up and then placing the ring between Wanda’s jaws once they’re wide enough. “Comfortable?”

Wanda nods dutifully.

“Good girl,” Natasha says warmly. She fastens the straps behind Wanda’s head, then turns Wanda around to really look at her. To neither of their surprise, Wanda’s fangs are popped, white against the silver of the gag, and Natasha runs a finger down one and then the other with a smirk. “You’re eager.”

“Yes, Duchess,” Wanda tries to reply, testing the ring. She’s used to forcing her mouth closed, not open, and the difference is in the vowels mostly. They’re longer, less interrupted by attempted consonants. It’s odd, it’s a little embarrassing, it’s thrilling.

“Oh, you’re too charming,” Natasha says. “And the other advantage of this toy should be obvious, hm?” She raises an eyebrow and coaxes Wanda to her knees, which makes Wanda’s eyes light up. She wasn’t expecting to get another taste of her Duchess so soon, but she’s gladder of it than anything.

 

* * *

 

They’re still like that when the doorbell rings, but Natasha steps away and replaces her clothes like she hadn’t just been screaming in ecstasy. “There’s a towel on the dresser,” she says, helping Wanda to her feet. “I’d use it if I were you, you’re all messy.”

Wanda giggles, then giggles even harder about how strange she sounds, as she takes the towel. It’s important she be presentable, even if they’re only (“only”) entertaining one human. (Another reason she trusts Natasha is that Natasha clearly understands that humans aren’t “only.” Natasha understands why she has no desire to kill humans without remorse.) She wants to make a good showing.

So once she’s clean and Natasha has given her approval, they go to the front door, Wanda two steps behind Natasha the whole time. Their guest is a skinny blonde, somehow more sophisticated than Wanda expected (and then she mentally kicks herself for her bias).

“Feya, this is Christine,” Natasha says. “Christine, my newest addition, Wanda.”

Wanda drops a curtsy, playfully demure, and mumbles a polite hello through her gag.

“Cute,” Christine exclaims. “And so ladylike.”

“She’s good at faking it, anyway,” Natasha jokes, which makes Wanda stick her tongue through the ring, which makes Christine laugh and Natasha scold, “Careful I don’t find a way to put a stop to that.”

The threat makes Wanda shiver (her tongue pinned down by something heavy and unmoving? Her tongue pulled forward and held in place?) but she can’t imagine that would help with the lesson at hand, so she behaves.

As Natasha brings them into the kitchen (it’s easy to clean as well as being rather on-point) Wanda loses track of the verbal conversation. She’s not much for words right now, after all, and neither of the others has made much of an effort to include her. They’re just catching up like friends do.

Instead she listens to Christine’s thoughts. She wants to be here, that much is clear; she’s interested in the rush that letting a vampire drink one’s blood brings. (She doesn’t sound fractured or lost inside her own mind like the girl at the bar. Wanda didn’t expect her to, but it’s still a relief.) She’s also curious about Wanda, about why she needs (or wants, no judgment) this training in this way, about who she is and where she’s from, about how Natasha found her, about how _young_ she seems.

That makes Wanda want to interrupt, even if nothing else does. She looks young, yes, but she’s been a vampire for several years now and she was in her twenties when she was turned. Early twenties, but she’s not a child.

“Feya,” Natasha says suddenly, snapping her fingers, “sit with us and take Christine’s hand.”

Wanda does, tilting her head.

“Can you feel her heartbeat? Hear it?”

Wanda concentrates for a moment. She can, she figures, locate Christine’s pulse in her wrist, and with almost no real trying she does. It’s fast, excited, but not wild. (Not like the girl at the bar.) So she nods.

“Well,” says Natasha, “pay attention to that. If it gets too slow, you’ve had enough or too much.”

“If it stops you’ve definitely had too much,” Christine cracks.

Wanda laughs at that, even if it’s not exactly funny (too like her fears). Christine is the chatty type, she thinks. She’s chipper and sarcastic and obviously smart, smarter maybe than she wants to let on, and she has a wicked sense of humor.

“You _can_ get blood from most parts of the body, but the best places to bite are the neck, the wrist, and the inner thigh,” Natasha continues. “You got that?”

Just nodding doesn’t satisfy, so Wanda repeats in her slurred, foggy-consonant voice, “Neck, wrist, inner thigh.”

“That’s so precious,” Christine croons, grinning with delight. “How long have you been training her? She’s so good.”

“Oh, she’s only been here a few nights,” Natasha shrugs, making sure to look Wanda in the eye as she adds, “She comes by a lot of this naturally.”

Of course, that makes Wanda purr.

Natasha gives Wanda’s hand a squeeze before going businesslike again. “Tonight you’re going to be practicing paying attention,” she says. “I’m going to bite Christine here,” and she nods to Christine’s wrist, the one Wanda is holding, “and you’re going to drink without escalating it.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, mumbling what’s meant to be “I couldn’t escalate even if I tried,” and gesturing to her gag if it wasn’t obvious.

“Oh, you’re being a little brat,” Natasha chides, but she’s laughing. “I really might have to stuff that pretty mouth when we’re done here, huh?”

Wanda shrugs, but she’s vibrating a little.

“Hey,” Christine interjects wryly, “can we get to it? Some of us have bedtimes.”

Natasha snorts. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, and Wanda can tell she’s never called someone “ma’am” and taken it seriously before in her life. She brings Christine’s wrist to her mouth and asks, “Good?”

“You know I am,” Christine smirks.

Natasha mugs a little for Wanda as she positions Christine’s wrist just so, winks as she drops fang and bites into it. This isn’t a particularly erotic interaction, but the moan Christine lets out (at least a little bit involuntarily) certainly is.

After a moment, Natasha pulls back, licks her lips clean, and asks Wanda, “You ready?”

Wanda can’t tear her eyes away from the punctures on Christine’s wrist, but she nods.

Natasha smiles (proudly?) as she passes Christine’s arm back. “All yours,” she says, and Christine grins.

She’s not afraid at all. She volunteered for this. She wants it. That’s what makes Wanda ready to drink, what motivates her to take Christine’s arm gently and lick at her blood. She wants to take her time, has to considering all she’s really working with is her tongue, and she wants to please Natasha. She groans with pleasure when Christine’s blood hits her tongue (the other two laugh, if fondly) and she really savors it for a minute. It’s so much better than TruBlood, she has to admit, though she can’t make a habit of it; what it comes down to is the difference between a prepackaged cupcake from the grocery store and a freshly-baked one from a mother’s oven.

“Good girl,” Natasha murmurs, setting a hand on Wanda’s knee. “Now put a finger on her pulse, near where you’re drinking.”

Wanda does, feeling Christine’s heart and blood beat steadily. It’s safe. She’s safe.

“You can keep going, “ Christine says, smiling just a little dopily. “I feel good. Not lightheaded or anything.”

Wanda smiles back, as best she can anyway, as she starts drinking from Christine again. She keeps moaning, more appreciative than turned on - Christine gets a rush from this, sexually or maybe just chemically, but she also deserves to know she tastes good. Or something like that.

It seems like more time passes than actually does, even as Wanda is counting heartbeats in the back of her mind, but eventually Natasha makes a noise that’s meant to call Wanda to attention. She looks up accordingly, but it’s just a check-in. It’s just meant as a “doing okay?”

Yes, Wanda’s doing okay.

It’s another few minutes before Christine’s pulse does start to slow, and though it’s difficult, Wanda pulls away. She can’t lick her lips, but she does wipe the remaining blood away with her fingertips and then lick them clean with a coy little smirk.

“Minx,” Natasha says, eyes sparkling. She bites her own wrist, then smears her blood on Christine’s bite to heal the punctures quickly.

Then, also quick, she comes behind Wanda and undoes the gag before Wanda has a chance to realize what’s going on. It’s a surprise, and not just because of the earlier suggestion.

“But, but,” Wanda squeaks.

“You can still hear her heart, right?” Natasha asks.

“Yes,” Wanda says. “And she’s tired. It’s obvious.’

“ _And_ you can tell that you’re full,” Natasha continues.

“Well, yes,” Wanda murmurs. “But…”

“But nothing,” Natasha says. “You did it.”

“Good job, kid,” Christine adds, laughing.

Wanda grins. Obviously this isn’t the end-all, but she’s proud of herself. This is exciting, and she’s excited. “Thank you,” she says, sweet as she can.

There’s some surprise on Christine’s face by this point, surprise she’s too polite to express out loud, but Wanda hears it anyway. Surprise once again at how young she is, and a little bit about how she’s the kind of foreign that Christine can’t place but she’s _pretty_ sure that doesn’t count as internalized racism since she’s European (Wanda lets this slide because she knows Christine doesn’t mean any harm and because while she’s not a purely white European, her accent doesn’t necessarily imply that). Because these things aren’t said out loud, Wanda keeps her reactions to herself; she’s used to exercising that type of impulse control, always.

Instead she reacts to Christine’s verbal response which is: “You’re welcome, sweetie. I’m always glad to help out Nat’s friends.”

There’s something titillating about hearing her Duchess referred to so casually, but Wanda shrugs it off. “Nonetheless,” she says thoughtfully, “it means a lot.”

They call Christine a Lyft and walk her to the door, making idle conversation like they’re just friends who haven’t exchanged bodily fluids in the recent past, and it’s so casual that Wanda isn’t thinking at all about her own earlier sass and Natasha’s subsequent suggestions.

But just as the Lyft pulls into the large, circular driveway, Natasha puts a hand on Wanda’s shoulder, strokes her jaw to get it to fall open, and (vampire-fast, of course) she pops the gag back in Wanda’s mouth. There’s a silicone plug pushed through the ring, pressing Wanda’s tongue down just like she’d imagined, and for a split second she feels like she might choke even though she really can’t. It’s not a horrible feeling, her mouth being full, but it’s more of a surprise than it should be.

“Say good night to our guest,” Natasha murmurs.

All that comes out is vowels, messy ones at that, but Wanda says it because she knows she has to. She’s sure her eyes are huge, awed at her own circumstances. She knows that this right now is Natasha’s dominance exerting itself for dominance’s sake; that, a bit of humiliation, and a reminder of both of their respective places.

It makes Christine giggle, too, not meanly but also not subtly. “Good night, sweetie,” she says, and she leans in to kiss the silicone between Wanda’s lips before she all but skips out the door.

This makes Wanda’s toes curl, and instinctively she looks back at Natasha and lets out a needy whine.

“I _do_ like the sound of that,” Natasha muses.

 

* * *

 

Wanda has been gagged for twenty-one hours, and there’s a part of her that’s incredibly frustrated but another part of her that honestly thinks she could keep her mouth bound forever if Natasha asked her to. The older woman clearly likes her like this - not because she doesn’t care what Wanda has to say, because she does, but because she likes it being just for her. She’s already learned how to interpret Wanda’s different “dialects” of gagtalk, the high mumbles from the muzzle and the too-open vowels from the ring and the garbled mess from the plug. She’ll undo the gag, or at least hand Wanda something to write with, if it’s necessary. She’s even suggested Wanda work on telepathic projection (between her fairy telepathy and vampire glamouring it might be possible). And she’s not voiceless, her screams and moans and whimpers can still be heard. It’s just a beautiful excuse to not have to worry about being verbal.

The more realistic option is they’ll keep up as they have, with Natasha doing with Wanda and her mouth just as she wishes. It’s less extreme, and they _have_ had nice, normal conversations between all the blood and orgasms.

That is, Natasha’s orgasms. Natasha has gotten off in countless ways, with Wanda eating her out or at least licking her or Natasha rubbing herself out to the sight of Wanda bound and displayed for her or Wanda rubbing Natasha out or, once, Natasha putting a dildo through the ring in Wanda’s mouth and fucking herself on it. Wanda herself?

Well, she’s been… teased.

She’s been touched all over, arranged and bound, she’s been paraded. She’s been very close to sexual satisfaction, but she hasn’t reached it.

Perhaps, Wanda thinks, what she really means is that she would let Natasha bind her mouth as long as she likes _if she would just get her off_ _already._

Right at this moment, Natasha is in her office something unexplained (possibly just sitting and reveling in Wanda’s frustration) doing while Wanda is laid out in bed. She was very clear that Wanda was to stay in bed and stay quiet, hence the gag (the plug came out last night once Natasha was satisfied that it had done its disciplinary duty, but the ring stayed and was utilized for the aforementioned orgasms, and when they curled up to sleep Natasha covered Wanda’s jaws with the muzzle for snugness and security). She didn’t, however, tell Wanda not to…

Well.

Luckily, Wanda is something of an expert at being quiet while touching herself, and with her mouth locked away (literally: at one point last night Natasha introduced a heart-shaped padlock) it’s even easier. And what will it hurt?

So she slips a hand under her dress and gets to work, less concerned with the experience and more with the result. She _yearns_ for the relief of getting off, the release, and it should be easy enough to achieve, she’s been on edge for days, but -

“Oh, dear, feya, am I interrupting something?”

Natasha is in the doorway, pouting comically, and Wanda understands suddenly that “don’t touch yourself” had been a rule after all, though it went unspoken. She whimpers, attempting halfheartedly to defend herself, but Natasha chooses not to understand her distorted pleas.

Instead she goes to one of her drawers (emergency kink supplies, Wanda has figured out) and pulls something out before joining Wanda on the bed. “Now, we’re going out tonight,” she says, starting to roll gloves (more latex, from the look of them) onto Wanda’s arms, “but it seems I can’t trust your hands not to misbehave.”

Wanda is confused for a minute - gloves are just gloves, even if they do diminish the feel of things on her skin - but then all of a sudden she tries to stretch her fingers and she understands. Instead of a real hand, these gloves end in thumbless mittens, ones that hold her fingers tightly together. Once Natasha fastens cuffs around each of her wrists (though they’re not yet linked together) she may as well have spades for hands, or paws. It’s very strange.

Thankfully, Natasha’s next move is to ungag Wanda, then kiss her passionately. “You shouldn’t have tried to touch yourself, but you did well with the gag, milashka,” she says, and then softly she adds, “Do you like being closed off like that? For me?”

Wanda ducks her head as she admits, “Yes. it feels safe, like you’ll take care of me. Like I don’t have to worry about finding the right thing to say.”

Natasha nods. “Is that to do with what you said before? About how you don’t always like to talk?” Assuming, of course, that Wanda _does_ want to talk now, she’s offering an opportunity.

And Wanda nods, wanting to explain herself to this woman she trusts so much after only a few days. “I didn’t start speaking, properly speaking and not just making the occasional noise, until I was nearly four,” she begins. “That’s not uncommon in autistic children. At first my parents were concerned that I couldn’t hear, but they realized that I could and that I would even respond, in writing or action. Once I discovered my telepathy, I could use that as well.”

Natasha tilts her head. “You said you didn’t really project.”

“I could with Pietro,” Wanda corrects. Her brother, her lost twin, and Natasha knows this without his name having been mentioned once this entire visit. “Since we were joined by blood and birth, I suppose. It’s part of why we were so rarely apart as children, he was my translator. Even after I started speaking sometimes, he’d help. He’d make sense of my half-sentences, or he’d explain when I said things that other children wouldn’t.”

“Other children are dull,” Natasha says. “I can’t imagine you being dull.”

“Other children also don’t have to worry about not mentioning the secrets they learned from reading their peers’ minds,” Wanda points out, smirking. “Nor do they abruptly go nonverbal at random moments.

“Is it related to moods?” Natasha asks, canting her head. “Experiences?”

At this point, Wanda notices that she’s bumping her bound hand against her thigh repetitively. That’s not a surprise, that she’s stimming nervously; she hasn’t really tried explaining her autism in a while. Even Steve and Sam and Bucky have gently tried to operate on logical assumptions most of the time, not wanting to upset her by asking too many questions. This isn’t her usual stim, but it’s better than nothing.

“It can be random, but being particularly upset or nervous can trigger nonverbal periods for me, too,” Wanda explains. “I didn’t speak for nearly two months after my parents were killed, and it was closer to six after Pietro died and I was turned.” She pauses to honor her dead with a moment of reverent silence. “He hated it, my Maker. Thought I was just being stubborn, didn’t realize that having the ability to whimper and scream is different from finding words. A lot of the time, at least for me, going nonverbal is literally not being able to get the words out.”

Natasha nods. “But when your mouth is covered…”

“Sometimes it feels like excusing myself from having to try to speak,” Wanda says. “If I know that I can’t, it’s a way out. And sometimes even if I probably could, I don’t want to. Those moments where I’d rather just listen, or rather be alone.”

“Rather let yourself be taken care of than have to take care of yourself,” Natasha supplies, and it’s meant kindly.

“After long enough without anyone to do that for me, it’s nice to be able to fall into it,” Wanda agrees. “And obviously being without words doesn’t bother me. I used to think that maybe I was supposed to hate it, supposed to want to be fully verbal all of the time, but it’s just a part of me, whether it’s my brain turning the words off or a toy doing.”

“I think I understand,” Natasha muses. “And I want you to know that I’m honored to take care of you, feya.”

Wanda hums, pleased. “Thank you, my Duchess,” she says, leaning to give Natasha a timid kiss. She’d squeeze her hand, but that’s not really an option at the moment. “Where are we going tonight?”

“Back to the club,” Natasha says. “My little sister is in town and I’d like you to meet her, she’s a lot like you.”

“Like me how?” Wanda asks, because she’s pretty sure she’d already know if Natasha had a sister who was fae.

“Oh, young,” Natasha says. “European, or British anyway.” Her eyes gleam. “Submissive.”

Wanda shivers. “It would be good to meet another person like that.” Partly because (with the exception of Bucky, who she knows to be submissive when liaising with virtually everyone but herself) she never knowingly has.

“And her girlfriend is charming, too,” Natasha adds. “Come on, let me get you dressed. You’re going to be a little codependent tonight, I’m afraid.” She clearly doesn’t really mind, since she necessitated this and she’s smirking about it.

Wanda shrugs. “Do what you like, as long as you don’t treat me like an animal,” she declares. “The leash and collar are fine, but I don’t want to wear ears or a tail or anything like that.”

“I hadn’t even considered it,” Natasha promises.

“Good,” Wanda declares. “Even I have limits.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, Wanda ends up wearing a harness over thigh-high stockings and an honest-to-goodness red leotard (she’s never worn less clothing outside, but nobody at a vampire fetish club will bat an eye). The straps go across her torso (above and below her breasts, pinning her upper arms to her sides) and up and down it (connecting the collar to the chest to the belt that goes between her legs). Her thighs are cuffed together this time, too, and Wanda is very aware of the hardware that could easily join them to the cuffs still free around her wrists. She’s not done _all_ the way up yet, though, so she resolves to be very good so she has a tiny bit of freedom as long as possible.

The leash is attached to her collar. Her trusty muzzle hangs in wait around her neck, in case she needs it (though hopefully she won’t) or Natasha wants it (and hopefully she will). Even more intense than the rest of this, that leather blindfold is snug over her eyes as Natasha steers her into the bar, and she once again remembers her awed and panicked curiosity the first night they came here.

“It’s just for a little while,” Natasha whispers. “Do you trust me?”

Wanda nods. “There aren’t many humans here yet,” she says. She doesn’t smell them or hear them either, and isn’t that what Natasha is wondering about?

“What do you notice about the vampires?” Natasha asks.

“Other than the way I can feel all their eyes on me like spotlights?” Wanda asks wryly.

“Other than that.” Natasha pets Wanda’s bare shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, feya, the ones that stare only do because you’re so very enticing.”

Wanda lets out a shuddery sigh, then takes a moment to observe her surroundings as best she can without her eyes to guide her. That’s what Natasha wants. Finally she says, “They all seem normal, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “No threats, at least that we couldn’t handle.”

Suddenly the point of this exercise becomes clear: since Wanda is still skittish around other vampires, unknown ones at least. Natasha is trying to teach her that she doesn’t have to be. She may be a baby, but she’s strong, and most vampires aren’t going to harm her anyway.

“Thank you,” Wanda murmurs. “For all of this.”

“I’m not above gagging you to end a feelings talk,” Natasha remarks, but she’s audibly smiling. “But lucky for you, we’re almost to the table. Evening, girls!”

Wanda feels Natasha loosen the grip on her leash as she probably hugs, maybe kisses her sister and said sister’s girlfriend.

“Tasha!” one of them exclaims. She’s British, so it’s the sister. “It’s so good to see you. Or, well....” She giggles.

“Something like that,” the other one says. She’s American and very amused about something.

“Feya, c’mere and kiss the girls hello,” Natasha says, tugging Wanda forward.

One of the girls leans in to kiss Wanda confidently, then murmurs, “Your turn, honey.” The girlfriend again. That makes sense, considering what Natasha said earlier.

There are more giggles as the sister leans in slowly, and her nose bumps against Wanda’s. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “Let me just…” She shifts, and then she kisses Wanda as well, considerably more chastely.

Then they’re all sitting, and Natasha is reaching for Wanda’s blindfold. “Here,” she says. “Does that help?”

Wanda blinks a few times, settling into the scene around her. Sitting at the table across from them are two girls who must have been similar ages to her when they were turned; one of them is Chinese (she’s fairly sure) with hair that looks sun-bleached but obviously isn’t and an outfit that could be described as “dapper butch clubwear,” leather pants and a sleeveless blazer without a shirt underneath, while the other is a white brunette with freckles across her cheeks (which should also be an impossibility, but somehow isn’t) and a little black dress, not to mention a black collar with a little pink heart hanging off of it and pale pink leather straps pinning her arms behind her back, among other things, and for the moment, a matching blindfold.

“I may have let slip what my plan for you was tonight,” Natasha says wryly, “and she wanted to try it too. She’s always been enthusiastic, this one.”

“It’s thrilling!” the sister exclaims, voice bright. “Being led about by someone you trust, knowing that there are people looking at you even if you can’t see them in return. Not having to worry, just being in your own little world.”

Wanda nods, slightly surprised at how articulate the description is. “It’s certainly exhilarating,” she agrees shyly.

The girlfriend chuckles. “You ready to step out of that little world and join the rest of us in the big one, honey?” she asks, stroking the sister’s cheek.

And the sister nods, turning her head so her blindfold can be removed. Once it is and she’s facing the others again, she properly looks at Wanda and her jaw drops. “Oh!” she squeaks. “You’re _gorgeous_.”

Wanda laughs nervously, not really sure what else to do. It’s one thing, she realizes, to be admired by a dominant or a neutral person, but another submissive offers praise differently, and it seems very earnest. Or maybe that’s just this girl.

“Say thank you, feya,” Natasha teases, nudging Wanda.

“Thank you,” Wanda echoes sweetly. “It’s nice to meet you…?”

“This is Jemma,” Natasha says, nodding to her sister. “And her girlfriend. Is it Skye or Daisy now?”

Skye-Daisy shrugs. “So okay, I’d been going by Skye since before I got turned, ‘cause I never actually knew my birth name and I thought it sounded cool,” she explains. “I also didn’t know my birth parents. It’s a long story, but, uh, I found both recently. Surprise, Mom’s an immortal being, and my parents had originally named me Daisy. So yeah, Daisy. I’m testing it out. I still use Skye online, though.”

“I see,” Wanda says, letting all of this sink in. “Well, Jemma, Daisy, I’m happy to meet you.”

“We’re happy to meet you, too,” Jemma says warmly.

“Wanda,” supplies Wanda, since it’s obvious that once again Natasha hasn’t bothered sharing anyone’s names ahead of time.

“Wanda,” Jemma and Daisy both repeat, and then Daisy says, “That’s… I always forget what language that’s from.”

“Lots of them, I think,” Wanda says, shrugging minutely. Bondage eliminates a lot of awkward physical tics and tendencies, she’s noticed, or at least softens them. “I’m from Eastern Europe. My parents were Romani and German-Jewish.”

Daisy looks slightly alarmed. “Oh my god, no, I didn’t mean that in the shitty racist way,” she says quickly. “I just wondered? I guess I’ve always paid attention to names and stuff, since I have such a weird relationship with my own.”

Wanda laughs, but not meanly. “I didn’t think that, don’t worry,” she says. “I just wanted to say early on, because people always wonder. Mostly because of my accent.”

“That makes sense,” Daisy agrees. “I get some of that too, ‘what _are_ you?’ kinds of things. ‘Cause like, Mom’s Chinese, but my dad wasn’t, so. I’m apparently confusing. And like, my real-real name is Da-xia, which is Chinese, obviously, but that even confused my dad, so his Milwaukee brain turned it into Daisy and that’s what stuck. It sounds kind of old-fashioned, but it could be worse. Mildred or something.”

“I think Daisy is a posh name,” Jemma promises, beaming.

“Suck-up,” Daisy teases, and she gives Jemma a kiss. It’s around now that Wanda notices that the blindfolds and bindings aren’t their only commonalities: there’s also a gag loose around Jemma’s neck, a pillowy-looking bit in that same pale pink color, and the very real possibility that she’ll get to see Jemma wear it makes her heart metaphorically skip.

“They’re sort of disgusting, don’t mind them,” Natasha says to Wanda, though it’s clearly meant fondly. “Anyhow. Like Daisy sort of alluded to before, she’s something of a tech pro and internet… something. Since Belle’s been having such a hard time tracking down that human you were worried about, Daisy volunteered to help too. Searching, recruiting, whatever.”

Wanda’s eyes light up. “Really?”

Daisy nods. “So far there’s not much,” she says, “but I did post descriptions of the girl and the shithead who’s messing with her, so my people will be on alert.”

“And I spoke to our, to Bobbi,” Jemma adds. “She’s Authority, she’s got connections.”

“I got Sharon in on it, too,” Natasha adds, since Wanda will already know that the same qualifications (Authority, etcetera) apply to said woman.

“Okay,” Wanda says. “I just… once I started to hear her, the girl, I ached for her. My situation was nothing like hers, but I remember how wretched it was to be pursued unwillingly. I was so afraid, in a way I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and even if she didn’t realize it she was afraid too. I want to help put a stop to that. I want to help make it better.”

“That’s so good of you,” Jemma says seriously. Wanda has to admire the ease with which she’s bound, how she stays like she’s been put and manages to carry on conversations while seeming perfectly comfortable. “Kara, she’d been in a situation as awful as this girl’s before her turn, and I’m sure she’d have been so grateful if someone had figured it out and intervened.”

“Kara’s my sister,” Daisy interjects. “Same shit Maker, different times and places.”

“Like Du - like Natasha and Jemma,” says Wanda, catching herself before she uses their private name. “Feya” is alright in public, it’s a simple pet name, but “Duchess” is just for the two of them.

Here, Natasha and Jemma both bite back laughter. “I should have been clearer,” Natasha says gently. “I call Jemma my sister, but we’re not actually joined by anything except for affection. I took her under my wing as if we’d shared a Maker, but because nobody else was going to.”

“I have a brother, but we’re too like human siblings,” Jemma chimes in. “So there were things he was never going to want to teach me.”

For a moment, Wanda is a little bit jealous, though she knows that’s foolish. It’s just that she realizes that Jemma probably sat where she herself is sitting, at least for a little while. That’s so silly, though. Natasha has a dozen paramours at least, why should this be the issue? Especially when Jemma is so sweet and Daisy obviously loves her and there’s no particular drama to be had amongst them all.

“She’s a good… vampire relation,” Wanda agrees instead, sort of awkwardly.

A waiter appears suddenly with a tray of TruBlood, compliments of some unknown fellow patrons, and Natasha just grins. “Looks like we’ve attracted some attention,” she says, and then to the waiter, “A couple of straws?”

Well, Wanda can’t really lift her hands much higher than her waist (and she’s going to have to hold the bottle in both hands, since she doesn’t have the use of thumbs or fingers), and she’s figured out that while Jemma’s upper arms are in a similar position, her forearms are cuffed behind her, folded with one resting on top of the other. When the straws are passed out, Daisy holds Jemma’s bottle for her easy as anything, with this incredible tenderness. It’s like she’s honored to be her girl’s hands for a little while, like she’s equally glad of the ability to render Jemma helpless and the opportunity to take care of her. It’s lovely. (She can only hope she and Natasha looked so at ease.)

The conversation drifts from topic to topic, among them stories about mutual acquaintances Wanda doesn’t have much context for (Jemma’s brother and his boyfriend, Daisy’s sister and her girlfriend who might also sort of be everyone else here’s girlfriend, various of Natasha’s inner circle that Jemma and Daisy have met or at least heard of) and the drinks are finished. At some point during this, Daisy’s eyes start to drift toward the dance floor, which reminds Wanda that there _is_ a dance floor.

“Ma’am,” Jemma murmurs insistently (so those names _are_ acceptable here, that’s good to know). “Ma’am, did you want to go dance?”

“Would you want to, Natasha?” Daisy asks, giving Jemma’s thigh a fond caress. “Since these two aren’t going to be up for it.”

Well, Wanda’s thighs do have the cuffs joining them, and (she sneaked a quick look under the table to verify this) Jemma’s ankles are cuffed as well, with a short chain linking them that would make her potentially even less mobile.

“I could dance,” Natasha agrees coolly. “But we should tighten our girls up while we’re gone, don’t you think?”

Daisy’s eyebrow goes up (it’s obvious she’s newer to kink than Natasha, but then most of the known world could probably fall into that category) but she nods. “They should get to have fun too,” she agrees. “But not _too_ much.”

“Of course,” Natasha says. “You’re getting good at this, Dais.”

“Thanks,” Daisy replies, preening. “Got good teachers and better inspiration.” She beams at Jemma before brushing her hair back and saying, “I do trust you to be a good girl while we go dance, but I think we’ll both feel better if you’re more secure, huh?”

Jemma nods demurely, but she’s obviously thrilled by the idea. “Whatever you want,” she says.

So Daisy produces another chain from her purse and uses it to join Jemma’s ankle cuffs to the leg of the table, padlocking the whole arrangement in place. “Okay?”

“I love you,” Jemma says like she’s giving permission.

“I love you too, honey,” Daisy hums, and she brings that pink bit up to Jemma’s lips. Jemma clearly expects this, because she opens up to accept the gag and purrs contentedly as Daisy gets it adjusted right.

This surprises Wanda a little, because she sort of thought they’d be left to talk and entertain each other, but seeing Jemma all bound up in that girlsh pink and clearly ecstatic about it, quietened by that bar between her teeth and totally at ease, well - it’s hot, and the realization that she’ll soon be showing off in the same way is even hotter.

“Ready, feya?” Natasha asks, choosing to be kind and not tease her for how aroused she probably looks.

“Yes,” Wanda says, glancing at Jemma shyly as she nods.

Natasha smiles indulgently and goes to work. She strokes down Wanda’s gloved arms before joining the D-rings on her wrist cuffs to those on her thighs, clips her leash to the table (it has convenient attachment points, which makes sense) and lifts the muzzle up. “It’s her favorite,” she says as she snugs it up around Wanda’s jaw. “She loves the way it feels on her.”

Jemma moans (appreciatively? Jealously?) and Wanda smiles to herself, because that’s true.

Natasha and Daisy, satisfied, kiss their girls’ foreheads and head off to the dance floor, hands loosely entwined as if to say “look what we can do.” For a moment Wanda is struck with an intense flash of social anxiety: how is she supposed to make nice with her Duchess’ adopted sister if she can’t talk and can only barely move?

Jemma seems to have an idea, at least. They can see each other, still, thank goodness for that, so she makes eye contact with Wanda and says (“says”) something in a shy, muffled voice. The sound makes Wanda’s hips rock, honestly; her own gagtalk sort of just happens to her, but someone else’s is _so_ much to take in. It’s like they share a common language, one of vulnerability and trust. Still, it takes Wanda a minute to translate. She’s sort of distracted by Jemma staring at her so expectantly, but it’s motivation at the same time.

Finally she decides it’s “how long have you known Natasha?” and oh, Wanda almost giggles. She glances down at her hand and then taps against her thigh five times before mumbling out what’s meant to be just “Nights.”

Jemma’s eyes go wide, because she knew it was recent but she didn’t expect that. She asks “really?” and all it comes out as is “eeayy?” The consonants are totally lost.

Wanda nods, and then (because her own speech is _slightly_ clearer, since there’s nothing in her mouth, just leather tight all around it) she explains slowly and with short, easy words that for all intents and purposes she’s Steve and Sam’s child, and a different sort of foundling to Natasha.

Jemma giggles, mumbling what’s almost certainly meant to be an “I know, I was too.” It’s becoming clear that she started this conversation not just to be polite to Wanda but also to practice talking like this and most importantly to work on turning herself on.

Wanda chews her lip inside the muzzle, trying to find the easiest words to say what she needs to. She might sound petty, but she settles on what’s meant to be “do you love her?”

This makes Jemma laugh once she registers it fully, the sound sort of hollowed out, and she shakes her head. Now that they’re figuring out the quirks in the other’s speech, it’s easier to get things across, so she chances to say, probably, “not like that.” Then she nods at Wanda with an obvious question in her eyes, clearly something like _do_ you _love her?_

Immediately Wanda glances at the leather around her thighs, finding it easier to look there as she nods tentatively. There’s no question about it in her own mind, but being outwardly uncertain is more politic after the aforementioned five whole nights.

Jemma nods knowingly (smugly?) before doing something vaguely shruglike and changing the subject. It takes Wanda a second to parse it out, but she’s pretty sure it’s a question about her own ability to read minds.

She just shrugs in response, glancing around the club and then back at Jemma as she attempts to explain “human, not vampire.”

Jemma quirks her eyebrow like a challenge. It’s an obvious _you sure about that?_ expression.

Wanda makes a face, nodding.

“Oh, oh,” Jemma exclaims, her eyes lighting up. It takes her a few starts and stops to get her point across, which is (much like Natasha has suggested): since she’s both fairy and vampire, couldn’t she try? And why not try right now? (It would make conversation easier, even if they _are_ both enjoying this strange attempt.)

Wanda has to collect her thoughts again before she responds, though, murmuring what means “You want that?” Most people _don’t_ want people in their brains, most people fear that. It’s one of the reasons Wanda was often an outcast as a human, if they knew that about her.

Jemma giggles, though, and nods down to the various bondage equipment on her. She says something that’s probably about knowing her (big? Dirty?) secret, then adds… well, Wanda’s not sure what. It sounds like “fah ai-en,” which could be a lot of things.

So Wanda tilts her head. “Huh?”

“Ai-en,” Jemma repeats, looking annoyed but only at her own inability to make this clear. She mumbles something else, but that doesn’t help either, that might even make it worse.

They’re both going to find this hilarious later - the eager subs thwarted by the combination of vocabulary and gag fetishes - but right now Jemma looks sort of humiliated, and not in the sexy way. Wanda doesn’t like that, so she concentrates incredibly hard and tries to pick up even a whisper of Jemma’s mind. She tries and tries and finally -

It’s more of a picture than just words. Jemma is sitting in a lab, wearing a doctor’s coat and plastic protective glasses, making notes about some brightly colored and fizzing chemical compound on the counter before her.

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims, eyes crinkling up with happiness. When she tries to say it, she manages to eke out a faint “ _shai_ -en.” Science. They’re on the same page, and Wanda succeeded!  
Jemma beams, her mouth turning up around the bit, and she nods eagerly. She makes a noise like she’s going to say something else, but then she shuts her eyes and _thinks_ , and Wanda gets a word this time: “experiment.” That’s why Jemma has offered this, she decides. It’s an experiment to see what Wanda can do.

Wanda wants to continue, but she doesn’t know how to communicate that with Jemma’s eyes closed, so she swings one foot sideways to nudge Jemma’s own, and they both giggle.

“Moa?” Wanda asks, which clearly means _more?_

Jemma nods, then tries to decide what to “discuss” next. Finally she settles on an easy question: does Wanda do a lot of kinky stuff?

Wanda, in turn, shakes her head and mumbles something meaning “only with Duchess.” She’s sure that’s going to trip Jemma up, because “Duchess” is an impossible word to say messily.

But luckily Jemma seems to be well-versed in D/s pet names, so after a minute of thought she nods in understanding. (Wanda did manage about half of a “d” sound, which limits the number of names significantly, she thinks.)

“I…” Wanda trails off, wanting to explain, but it’s too complicated for one-and-two-syllable words. So she decides to try something else, something she hasn’t done since Pietro was alive. She concentrates very hard on a memory - one of Wanda and Bucky in bed, Bucky’s left hand tracing the edge of Wanda’s muzzle as he says “I don’t want to do anything more than this yet” - and then concentrates harder on Jemma seeing it too.

It must work alright, because Jemma’s eyes go wide and she squeaks out what Wanda’s almost certain means “you slept with Bucky?”

Wanda nods, says something approximating, “I like him, but…”

Jemma envisions the blue leather collar he was wearing the first time that the two of them met (and many times after that), and once she’s sure Wanda has seen it too she raises an eyebrow. _But he’s a sub too_ , it means.

Wanda nods again, shrugging. They worked it out, but it’s a different sort of relationship.

“Yeah,” Jemma manages, and then she thinks, _I’ve never been with another sub, not really._

Wanda blinks, then very quickly (and hoping she’s picking up on the right undertones to that statement) she mumbles something like “do you want to?”

Jemma bites down on her gag (it has a little give, since it’s stuffed leather) and for a horrifying second Wanda feels like she’s overstepped. But then Jemma thinks another vivid image.

What Wanda sees is definitely enough to assure her she’s not being presumptuous about anything. It’s Wanda and Jemma both, bound on their knees, face to face and connected by a ball gag that has a set of straps on either side, one for both of them. Natasha and Daisy sip blood from cocktail glasses as they watch them stare desperately at each other and struggle to touch. Finally the dommes join them, and though they stay bound together, the game becomes one of overstimulation, something that Wanda, lust-addled as she is, nearly moans at even the thought of. She squeaks incoherently: somehow she never imagined such a thing, but it’s unbearably hot.

When Wanda snaps back to attention, Jemma is staring at her inquisitively, and Wanda, she just nods. She’s smiling, too, even if it barely shows. She wouldn’t have dreamed it, but oh, she wants it.

They’re both content to sit and share the fantasy, making tweaks (adding spreader bars between their knees, binding their arms together somehow, putting Natasha and Daisy just out of their periphery and playing with each other like a taunt) and murmuring nonverbal assent, and by the time their dommes return, they’re both, well, squirming.

“Looks like we were right to be prepared,” Natasha remarks. “Otherwise they’d be acting oh so very impolite.”

Wanda laughs weakly and she mumbles what’s meant to be “well, you just left us here.”

Natasha registers that she’s being backtalked, which means that she adjusts Wanda’s muzzle even further, tightening with the intention of making it nearly impossible to open her jaw. As such, pretty much all that she’s capable of right now it high-pitched grunting.

She should mind this more than she does.

“I guess _you’ll_ have to fill us in on why you’re so excited,” Natasha muses, nodding for Daisy to remove Jemma’s gag. (Of course, Daisy has to kiss her once it’s done.)

“Oh!” Jemma exclaims, grinning. “Well, we’re talking, sort of? Muddling through.”

“We know, we heard,” Daisy giggles. “You both sounded very cute. Completely nonsensical, but very cute.”

Jemma practically shimmies with delight as she says, “Thank you, ma’am. May I continue?”

“Please do, honey,” Daisy says.

“So we were, ah, well, we came up on the problem of words not always translating into, you know,” Jemma says, surprisingly shy about addressing the topic of gags (this sort of surprises Wanda, because it’s obvious the other girl adores them, but everyone is different), “and I thought, why not see if Wanda could read my mind if she tried? So she did, try that is, and she could, and she can put thoughts into mine, too, and we were just…” She trails off, even more demure. “Trading ideas that way.”

Natasha grins, just for a second, before she kisses Wanda’s forehead. “I’m proud of you, milashka,” she says. “That’s just what we were talking about.”

Wanda attempts to shrug with self-deprecation, but she’s visibly pleased with herself, and before she thinks better of it she sends Natasha the image that Jemma dreamed up to prove it. It takes a little more effort to make sure it’s gone through, possibly because Natasha’s so much older and all, but it clearly works.

“Well,” Natasha murmurs, both eyebrows going up. “Did you start that or did she?”

Wanda nods toward Jemma, who looks aghast. “You, ah, is that… should I not have…?”

“Oh, you definitely should have,” Natasha says. “It’s beautiful. You two will be beautiful. I just already had plans for my first time giving our sweet feyri-kin an orgasm, so it’s not for tonight.”

Jemma’s jaw drops. “You haven’t let her come _all week_?” she yelps, at the same time Daisy says, “Uh, feeling a little out of the loop here. What’s gonna be beautiful, but not tonight?”

“Oh, your honey just had an elaborate fantasy,” Natasha says.

“So business as usual,” Daisy jokes. “What was it, honey?”

Jemma lights up. “Well, you have Wanda and I on the bed or wherever, and you and Tasha are watching us,” she begins. “We’re done up, of course, and it doesn’t much matter how, but the point is that we, we can’t get as close as we want to. And you found, ah, you found ones of those, um.” She grins sheepishly. “You know, the gags that have, ah, they have two sets of straps on them so you can put them on two people at once and they’re stuck almost but not quite kissing?”

Daisy whistles through her teeth. “Yeah, I know of those,” she agrees. “If these two are up for it, that sounds like fun. But I have to agree, if Wanda really hasn’t gotten any all week I’d rather Natasha get to go through with whatever plans she has. You seriously haven’t…?”

Wanda shoots Natasha a look (slightly dirty) before nodding, giving a little grunt in the affirmative as well.

“Oh, man,” Daisy laughs. “Those plans must be epic.”

“I don’t mean to brag,” Natasha smirks, “but it’ll definitely be worth it.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jemma giggles. “I never had to wait _this_ long, but waiting can be fun.”

“You always get pouty when I make you wait,” Daisy points out.

“Well, the two things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jemma replies. “Frustration is interesting.”

Natasha and Daisy exchange looks, and then Daisy says, “So I could kiss Natasha right now, in front of you, and you’d have fun wishing you could get kissed too?”

“That sounds gorgeous, ma’am,” Jemma says loyally, even as she wiggles in her bonds. “I’d be lucky to watch.”

Wanda whines loudly in agreement.

“What if, what if,” Natasha echoes, smiling distantly. “Lucky for you, it’s nearing sunrise and I _do_ have plans.”

“I think we do, too,” remarks Daisy, who’s gotten a _whole_ bunch of ideas from Natasha tonight and can’t wait to try them. “Starting with…” She reaches for Jemma’s gag.

“I love you,” Jemma says softly.

“I love you too,” Daisy murmurs, replacing the bit. “How about that present, Nat?”

Jemma squeaks, making a noise like she’s repeating the word, and sits up a little straighter.

“Well,” Natasha says, furrowing in her handbag for longer than is necessary, “I thought since little feya likes hers so much, you might too.”

Jemma whines curiously.

“Sorry it doesn’t match,” Natasha continues. “I didn’t realize you’d be princess-pink tonight.” She hands over the gift: a black muzzle that’s almost identical to Wanda’s (different craftsperson, similar style). “What do you think?”

Jemma squeaks, and she looks at Daisy very hopefully as she makes a sound that means “now?” She’s clearly deep enough in subspace that she’s up for anything.

“Yeah, honey, I do,” Daisy says. “I know you like showing off, and I like showing you off too.”

Jemma preens, because she really does, and she ducks her head so Daisy can do her up.

“The best thing about this toy,” Natasha remarks, “is that there’s nothing inside it. You can put it on over another gag if you want. Make things just that much more intense for you.”

“Wanna try?” Daisy asks softly.

Jemma squeaks out a “yeah.”

And something interesting occurs to Wanda: she’s not odd for being like this. She’s not maladjusted, or dark-minded, or anything like that. It’s not a sign that there’s something wrong with her. Jemma is a brilliant actual _doctor_ , and she wants the same things sometimes. So many people want these things sometimes. That’s not freakish, it’s just something that makes some people different from others.

(She never thought Natasha was odd for wanting to do these things to her. Why did she worry she was odd for wanting them done?)

“So good,” Daisy is crooning in Jemma’s ear, and Wanda can _feel_ the pride coming off of her in waves. She arranges the muzzle around Jemma’s jaws, over the bit, and starts to tighten each strap; with each tug, each closing of a buckle, Jemma lets out a little sigh, and those keep up and yet get softer and softer as Daisy works at it. By the time it’s done, Jemma looks like she’s about to float away, she’s so happy. The muzzle is tight across her jaw and the leather clings to the shape of the padded bit underneath it: this should look silly, but somehow it doesn’t at all. It just looks like what’s right for this exact moment.

“You look pretty cozy,” Natasha remarks, nodding at Jemma.

“Yeah, but I don’t want her getting _too_ cozy,” Daisy says, stroking Jemma’s hair fondly. “Plans and all. Before we head out, how about some kisses goodnight?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Natasha murmurs, and she leans to kiss Daisy on the lips, just long enough to make Jemma and Wanda whine in harmony. “So impatient,” she jokes, and then she leans to plan a kiss on Jemma’s muzzle, looking smug as anything.

Jemma squeals, clearly delighted, and shuts her eyes as she tilts her head up. That’s really the only participating she can do, but she does it. “Gorgeous,” Daisy says, and Jemma mewls.

“Your turn, feya,” Natasha says, and Daisy kisses over Wanda’s muzzle playfully.

And then!

“Kiss your new friend, too,” Natasha murmurs, and she turns Wanda by the shoulders so she’s facing Jemma. Wanda, for her part, is a little baffled: it’s not like either of them can really… kiss…?

But once again, Jemma knows what to do. She leans in, eyes sparkling, and presses her mouth (approximately) against Wanda’s (approximately). Technically all they do is rub their muzzled faces against each other for a few moments (“muzzle nuzzles,” Wanda hears Jemma think, and both of them giggle in their minds) and it has no right to be as sensual as it is, but - maybe it’s another exercise in erotic denial or maybe it’s just an inexplicable Submissive Thing.

Whatever the case, Wanda feels herself getting wet (wetter), and she knows Jemma is too.

“Such good girls,” Daisy hums, sounding surprisingly reverent. “Such a pretty picture.”

Jemma squeaks twice, probably a “thank you.”

“This will be fun,” Natasha agrees. “In time.”

Daisy bends down to free Jemma’s ankles (the cuffs stay on, but both sets of chains are gone, so she can walk more-or-less normally) and then they stand together. “C’mon, honey, let’s say goodnight,” she says. “These two have stuff to do.”

Jemma leans into Daisy as she (probably) smiles and hums out a proper farewell, which Natasha and Wanda both return. And then they’re off, and Natasha and Wanda are left alone at the booth.

“I take it you liked them,” Natasha chuckles.

Wanda nods eagerly.

“We’ll play more later,” Natasha promises. “But it’s time for us to head home, too. It’s almost bedtime, after all.”

Whatever Natasha’s sexual endgame, Wanda can figure, it won’t play out tonight. She should have known.


	3. every night I feel you burning, every night I hear you calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark histories are shared and clues discovered; Wanda successfully and non-fatally feeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW (discussion of) cutting.

Apparently Wanda has had enough attention and prolonged physical contact tonight, because Natasha puts her to bed in the room she slept in the first day here. Wanda whines about this, which might be why Natasha leaves the gag on, but then it might have been destined to happen anyway. She undoes the rest of the restraints, though, all but the long gloves that hide Wanda’s fingers and the cuffs that hold them in place. Those she fastens again, linking them together in front of Wanda.

She makes a show of putting Wanda to bed, too, tucking her in and placing a pillow in her arms for her to snuggle. “You’re doing amazing, milashka,” she says.

Wanda tries to whine again - “then why aren’t I in your bed?” - but with the muzzle so tight across her jaw and lips, the complaint all but melts away.

But that’s the thing. It’s not a serious complaint. If she had one of those, she could make it known. She could even project it into Natasha’s mind, and Natasha would respect it. Natasha would stop this game if Wanda were really displeased, but she’s not. She’s just… she’s horny. She hates that word, but it’s the most apt one.

She doesn’t sleep well. This is not to say that she doesn’t sleep, she does because as a relative baby she has to, but she dreams incoherent restless dreams that only leave a vague discontent feeling when she wakes. She tosses and turns as much as she’s able.

She wakes thinking only of Natasha.

The older woman comes to get her at sunset, taking her time removing all of the accessories. “How do you feel about trying to drink from someone without using toys?” she asks as she undoes the cuffs on Wanda’s wrists.

Wanda nods, though drinking blood is the last thing on her mind. If that was Natasha’s goal, she’s succeeded.

“Mm, well,” Natasha continues, unrolling the gloves and smiling as she watches Wanda stretch and flex her fingers immediately, “let’s go pick one out, hm?”

She removes Wanda’s muzzle.

“Back at the club?” Wanda asks hoarsely.

“My Darcy actually invited us to a party,” Natasha says, going to Wanda’s bags to pick out a couple of outfits for her to choose from. “It’s a little vanilla because she invited humans, but she invited humans who will be into you drinking their blood, at least.”

Wanda smirks. “Did she put an ad on Craigslist?”

“She’s in college, sort of,” Natasha corrects. “She takes a class or two every term and then gets to reap the benefits of college social life.”

“So the humans…” Wanda makes a face. “They are all willing?”

“Maybe too willing,” Natasha laughs. “Darce called the general lot of them ‘die-curious.’”

“But they don’t _really_ want to die?” Wanda presses. She sounds a little distant saying it.

“That’s just a bad Darcy pun,” Natasha promises. “It works because vampires are undead and it riffs on ‘bi-curious,’ which is always worth mocking.”

“It is,” Wanda agrees. “This just seems odd.”

“What does, feya?” Natasha asks. “Feeding is much easier now that humans know about us, even not taking TruBlood into account. Some people genuinely enjoy being bitten, and still others regard it as the same kind of daring fun as going skydiving. Calculated risk can be exciting or even sexy.”

“I suppose,” Wanda demurs, and before she can stop herself she adds, “I don’t know if I’d have found it sexy so much as an outlet for self-harm.”

Natasha frowns and takes Wanda’s hand. “I noticed the scars,” she murmurs. “Or what remains of them.”

Since most of the scars on Wanda’s skin faded to almost nothing when she turned. Especially the older ones are still apparent, though, however faintly. Is Wanda’s propensity for sleeves and gloves, stockings and leggings, any wonder?

As evidenced by that hiding, it’s not Wanda’s most favorite thing to discuss, but she brought it up, because she owes her Duchess the truth. “I was a reckless child,” she begins. “Teenager. I blamed myself for my parents’ death, and I didn’t want anyone else to die because of me.” She laughs mirthlessly. “That worked out well, as you can see.”

“None of this was your fault,” Natasha murmurs, giving Wanda a gentle squeeze.

“I was, I am, the one with the cursed blood, though,” Wanda says quietly. “Not my parents, not Pietro. It only woke in me.”

Fairy blood in its pure and distinguishable form is like any other genetic trait, Natasha knows. It doesn’t always manifest, and the farther back in the line the fae ancestor is the more unlikely the trait’s manifestation. This is just a fact, but suddenly it strikes Natasha as devastating.

“I thought,” Wanda continues, “that maybe I could get rid of my curse. I thought that if I let my own blood, nobody else could be so lucky.”

“You’d rather have died than cause suffering,” Natasha supplies, and it catches in her throat.

“Noble, perhaps, but foolish,” Wanda sighs. “I was fully seventeen before Pietro caught me at it. By then it was apparent to me that I couldn’t bleed my fairyness out, and I didn’t have the nerve to cut deep enough to kill quick. Another recurring theme. But injuring myself was a habit, it was soothing to watch my body spill out of itself.”

Natasha frowns, but she understands the logic. She can’t imagine wanting to do it, but it does make abstract sense. She doesn’t press for further elaboration, though. She just says, “Pietro stopped you, though.”

“Of course he did,” Wanda says fondly. “He reminded me that living well would be a better revenge, that our parents shouldn’t have died for nothing and wouldn’t want me to follow them until I was supposed to. He reminded me that I still had things tying me to this world, namely him, and he’d have been as lost without me as I was without him.”

“Connections are vital,” Natasha murmurs. “That’s true even if you try to avoid it.”

“Yes,” Wanda whispers. “And thanks to…” Steve and Sam and Bucky, and now Natasha too, in a different way that’s too strong to vocalize just yet. “Thanks to everyone I feel that again.”

The hidden meaning in the words does occur to Natasha, or something like it does at any rate, and because of that or just because, she drops some of her usual bravado and says, “We’re glad of that. I’m glad. I know…” She turns away from Wanda, finding it easier to say this to the wall. “I know how crushing detachment and loneliness can be.”

A less perceptive person might wonder how Natasha, with her legion of friends and lovers, could possibly be lonely, but Wanda knows with a certainty that she’s not speaking of the present. Vampires have so much history to reflect on, after all. She just scoots back on the bed, wraps her arms around her knees, and says, “You do.” It’s not a question, even if that would be more polite.

“I never knew my birth parents, or any family of mine,” Natasha says, in a very “once upon a time” voice. “I was raised from the time I can remember in a place that seemed like a convent. There were hundreds of girls there, it seemed, and like me none of them could remember their early, or earlier, lives. We were always kept busy, though as I grew older I realized how strange it was that the so-called nuns never had us at prayer or any holy tasks, and we were never alone, both supervised and kept in groups. The only time that wasn’t true was when we were being punished.”

Wanda grimaces, and she murmurs, “You don’t need to tell me this.”

Natasha smiles, though without humor. “No use keeping secrets from a telepath.”

“I wouldn’t pry,” Wanda insists. “I have to work very hard to get into your thoughts.”

“Alright, then consider it turnabout,” Natasha says, too lightly. “I know all your horrors, let me tell you mine.”

She can’t just say “I want you to know,” though it’s the truth. They both know that.

“They said, these sinners in saints’ clothing, that they were raising us to be able to care for ourselves, support ourselves,” Natasha continues after a moment. “The best we could hope for was to find work in town, on a farm, as maids in a great house. Women had few options in those days. They claimed that their strictness would prepare us for our future masters’ tempers.” She snorts. “Maids. It seemed like a lie even when I was too small to figure out the truth.”

“Oh, dear,” Wanda murmurs.

“As I grew, I noticed that the girls I thought of as comrades-in-arms, if you’ll allow me to be terribly Russian, would vanish, one after another,” Natasha says, like she’s barely heard Wanda’s soft interjection. “They were sent off at night - never day - dressed far too fine to be a maid or any of the other honest and humble professions they told us about but barely prepared us for, and then they were forgotten. My turn came, and I learned that the better way to explain our job was ‘bride of death.’” She shakes her head. “We were gathered, possibly stolen, and raised to be glorified chewtoys. We were meant to be beautiful and pliable as one of the local vampire lords did as they pleased with us and the false nuns enjoyed the profits.”

“Do any of them still live? I’ll change that,” Wanda swears.

That earns another dry laugh from Natasha. “I don’t doubt you would,” she says. “But they’re long gone. The tumult of my country saw to that.” She clears her throat. “I wasn’t interested in letting some man’s greed end me, so I did the only thing I could think of and made a deal. Wouldn’t he, this lord who bought me to kill me, wouldn’t he rather have a woman who could stand beside him always, who could match his appetites, who knew him intimately? Someone who he could keep and make his own?”

“So he was your Maker,” Wanda says.

“And for awhile that was all I knew,” Natasha agrees. “I didn’t love him, or really even like him, but once I was turned he treated me more as an equal. I felt sometimes that I’d sold my soul, if I ever had one, but I was full and clean and safe for the first time I could remember, and I thought that it was the better of my options.”

Wanda nods. This is in some ways the opposite of her own story, but she still understands. “So he was your lord, and you were his lady.”

Natasha nods. “In those days vampires were hardly concerned about killing, so I did a lot of that. I even enjoyed it sometimes. I’d be sent after those my Maker deemed threats, the pious and puritanical or those who hunted creatures like us for vengeance or sport, and I always thought, better them than me.”

Wanda clicks her tongue. “Did you think they were threats?”

“Enough that I went through with it,” Natasha says. “He could always command me if I rebelled, but I’d rather have made the choice myself. It could have been worse.” She finally turns back to look at Wanda, solemn. “I had never much liked or respected myself, I realize that now, and I hda no reason to believe that life was a series of slightly less bad choices to make.”

“I’m -” Wanda begins to say.

“If you apologize, I will lock that muzzle on you for a week,” Natasha threatens, though she’s clearly joking (and she’s not sure sure the idea doesn’t excite Wanda more than worry her). “I’m not proud of what I did then, and I don’t look back on it fondly, but I survived and that was what I had set out to do. Eventually my Maker was killed, by the proverbial bigoted townspeople no less, and before they could catch me I took what of his fortune I could and fled.”

“So it worked out for you,” Wanda says.

“After a few false starts and relocations, anyway,” Natasha nods. “Eventually I started to meet those I now care about, and eventually they started to teach me how to be good. My lessons, incidentally, were much longer and less interesting than yours.” They share a laugh. “But once I started to find these people, make these connections and discover what it meant to actually care about someone and about myself, I realized something. I’m just one of those who had to die so I could learn how to live.”

 

* * *

 

Their confessions leave them feeling lighter as they step out for the evening, and oh, do they step out. They dress as showily as they can without being shockingly kinky: Wanda wears a corset and leather pants (and a collar, but it’s one that passes for edgy jewelry, it won’t occur to any of the humans that she’s not as confident and even commanding as she plans to pretend to be) and Natasha slips into a latex dress that looks painted on. They look like daring college kids’ ideas of sexy (Sapphic) vampires, which is the whole point.

Darcy’s party is held at a house that may belong to her Maker, it’s not really clear. It’s big but not too big, modern but not too modern, and more importantly it’s overflowing with rowdy twentysomethings in clubbing outfits.

“We’ll fit right in,” Natasha says ironically.

They decide not to go dance (Wanda is self-conscious, especially after having glimpsed Natasha’s moves last night) so they set up at the bar, sitting coquettishly on stools and watching the crowd. Most of the guests are human (Wanda can’t help but wince at all the noise, which seems like an awful lot after nights upon nights of mostly-vampire company) and their age definitely shows. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s very much a thing.

“This reminds me of everything that I missed,” Wanda says thoughtfully, lightly so it’s not a cry for pity.

“I doubt you’re any less for it,” Natasha smirks. “I didn’t come of age with beer pong and seven minutes in heaven either.”

“People this age don’t play seven minutes in heaven,” Wanda laughs. “That’s practically a game for children. Younger teenagers, at least.”

“To me, these are children,” Natasha points out.

Wanda nods in concession. “It’s just that this makes me feel other, even less sometimes. I look around and see a terrible lot of _normal_ , which I’ve never been good at approximating.”

“If the world doesn’t want you as you, that’s the world’s flaw, not yours,” Natasha says firmly. “You missed out on, what, mediocre alcohol and worse sex? That’s nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” Wanda exclaims, playfully defensive. “I’m just… observing.”

Just then a curvy brunette skips up and plants one on Natasha before turning to look Wanda over curiously. “Your taste continues to be impeccable, Nat,” she says.

“I’m guessing this is Darcy,” Wanda remarks, amused.

“Darcy Lewis, eternal co-ed and professional dilettante,” Darcy agrees, pretending to curtsy (her skintight vintage bustier-dress doesn’t allow for a full and proper one). “Which makes you Wanda don’t-know-your-last-name, super magical fairy princess or whatever.”

“Maximoff,” Wanda says. “My last name is Maximoff, and I’m not a princess.”

“But you’re precious like one,” Darcy trills, pinching Wanda’s cheek (it’s clearly a joke, although a strange one - but that just seems to be Darcy’s way). “Look at you. Is this baby’s first corset?”

Wanda suddenly goes shy, glancing at Natasha for approval before saying, “Yes.”

“It looks amazing,” Darcy promises.”

Natasha rests a hand on Wanda’s thigh and suggests, “Compliment her back. Darcy here is, what did you say? Always a slut for attention.”

Darcy strikes a pose, sort of goofily, and (feeling the pressure) Wanda blurts out the first thing she thinks of, which is “Your cleavage is very impressive.”

“Went straight for the titties, I respect that,” Darcy laughs, and she leans sideways against the bar before changing the subject. “I hear you’re looking for someone to snack on.”

“To put it bluntly,” Wanda says with a nervous laugh. “Preferably someone who’s not insufferable and doesn’t reek of body spray.”

“So not a frat kid,” Darcy asks. “Boy, girl, both, neither?”

Wanda considers this. “Not a _boyish_ boy,” she says. “A bro-type boy. I don’t mind nice boys, but I like girls more easily.”

Darcy nods in understanding. “So again, no frat kids,” she says. “I’ve got a human boytoy you could borrow if you want. Ian’s his name, he’s a sweetie.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep,” Wanda frets.

“I offered, didn’t I?” Darcy shrugs. “Nat, I see what you meant about her being conscientious to the point of paranoia.”

“I would be hurt if I didn’t agree with that assessment,” Wanda deapdans.

“Hey, at least you’re honest,” Darcy laughs. “But hm. There’s a lot of maybes here, but…” She nods at a petite Asian girl across the room. “I was talking with her a little earlier, I think she’d be up for it.”

Wanda tries to filter out the crowd and listen in on the girl for a minute. She’s chatting with some people, acquaintances at best it seems, but she seems sort of bored, like she’s getting nothing out of the interaction. But she definitely chose to be here and she definitely wants to liaise with a vampire, so she fits Wanda’s criteria, and hey, she’s definitely cute.

“Yeah, feya, go for it,” Natasha encourages.

“Okay, wish me luck,” Wanda says, hopping off the stool (Darcy takes her seat immediately) and heading for the girl before she loses her nerve.

The girl happens to notice her coming, too, and that saves Wanda the trouble of having to come up with a pick-up line. Encouraging. Instead she just nods casually, like any normal woman might, and says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” the girl replies, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you around before, have I?”

“I’m visiting,” Wanda replies.

“Cool,” the girl says. “Checking out the school, or…?”

Wanda almost laughs, because even as a human going to university had been a dream at best and an impossibility at worst, and now as a vampire she’s not sure what the point would be. “I’m just seeing a friend,” she says instead of getting into any of that, because it’s nicer conversation.

“Cool,” the girl repeats, and then she drops her voice in a way she clearly finds sly. “Are you, um, a…”

“Vampire?” Wanda provides, chuckling. “Yes, among other things.” The specifics of which she doesn’t plan to get into. Fairies aren’t “out” to the general population in the same way.

The girl glances around like she’s nervous but excited. “Well, um, my friend made a, um, it’s a scavenger hunt of dares, sort of? And one of them was to get a vampire to bite you.”

Wanda can see where this is going, of course, but still. “I wasn’t expecting that it would be so easy to find someone,” she remarks.

“Truth is stranger than fiction because we don’t meet it as often,” the girl says. It’s clearly a quote, but Wanda can’t attribute it and doesn’t want to make herself look dumb by asking. (Maybe that would be the point of going to university.) Then the girl holds out her hand and says, “I’m Mei. C’mon, I know where there’s an empty bedroom.”

“I’m Wanda,” says Wanda, and she nods for Mei to lead them in the dirght direction. She’s getting a strange unease from the girl all of a sudden, but it’s not about being bitten. She’s comfortable with that. She’s just… worrying about something else she can’t put into words.

Luckily, Wanda doesn’t have to pry, because once they’re alone Mei slams the door shut, leans against it, and says, “Look, I’m not messing with you, you can bite me in a minute. You’re definitely hot and I’m into it, but I was actually thinking we could do a trade.”

“I’m not giving you any of my blood,” Wanda says warily, because she knows it’s not good for humans to use V and she’s not sure what fairy-laced V would do to someone.

Mei rolls her eyes. “I’m not a druggie,” she says. “I just want information.”  
“About?”

“My roommate is missing.”

Wanda’s stomach drops. She doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, the mystery girl from the bar can’t be the only missing girl (person! Mei didn’t even say what her roommate’s pronouns were) in the area. She might not even technically _be_ missing. She might...

“Why are you asking me?” Wanda murmurs, because she doesn’t know what else to do. “I’m not from around here, I said.”

“You’re a vampire,” Mei insists. “And I’m not some bigoted ass who thinks all vampires are evil, that’s not the point, but the odds that one vampire at least knows another one are better than humans knowing that same vampire.”

Wanda doesn’t want to let on about her mind-reading, and anyway she wants to hear Mei say what she has to out loud, so she’s practically shaking with the effort not to listen in on Mei or react to what she hears accidentally. She’s very careful to sound ignorant when she asks, “Is your roommate a vampire?”

“No,” Mei says, rolling her eyes again. She does that a lot. “But the last time I saw her was at a vampire club. It was a really divey place, but I convinced her to go with me as a laugh. We’d just had a big test and we needed to blow off steam. Obviously I feel great about this decision.” She sighs. “So we’re having a good time, this _Doctor Who_ -looking fucker is plying her with drinks, and maybe a minute after I lose sight of them in the crowd I get this text that’s like, ‘hey I’m going home with that guy, don’t wait up, winky face.’ Fucking _winky face_. That’s not like her, but I didn’t wanna be weird, so I didn’t push. But she didn’t come home the next morning. Or at all. That was like three weeks ago.”

“Have you gone to the police?” Wanda asks, already knowing the answer.

“Didn’t help,” Mei grumbles. “There’s no evidence of shit, and they say she just ran off.”

“Fuck them,” Wanda declares.

“That is the saying,” Mei agrees, and it takes Wanda a moment to realize which saying she means (“fuck the police”). “So?”

Wanda nods, careful as she asks, “What’s your roommate’s name? What does she look like?”

“Hope,” Mei says. “Her name is Hope Shlottman. She’s about your height, long blonde hair. She’s from Nebraska and it shows.”

Yes. It’s definitely the girl from the bar.

“And the man you think took her?” Wanda asks.

“Like I said,” Mei shrugs, “some generic white brown-haired guy in a douchey suit. Seemed to think being British made him special.”

That’s all Wanda can handle. “I saw them!” she exclaims, trying not to act too crazed. “It was at a different bar, I think. A fancier one. But what you’re saying sounds like who I saw.”

“Oh my god,” Mei yelps. “I didn’t actually expect this to work! Holy shit. Is she okay?”

Wanda makes a face. “She’s not dead,” she says. “She was acting happy, but I don’t know if she was, truly. It seemed like there was something wrong.” She bites her lip. “There wasn’t anything we could really do, and we didn’t know the extent of the situation, but we asked a few of our friends to track her down and intervene if possible.”

“Seriously?” Mei asks, suddenly looking ecstatic. “Holy shit, you’re my hero. Wanna have sex before, during  or after the blood?”

Now _that_ is unexpected. Wanda likes this girl well enough, but she can tell the offer is mostly meant as a show of gratitude, not really a pure desire to have a pleasant quickie. Besides, she can guarantee Natasha would have something to say about that.

Actually, that’s a great excuse that won’t hurt Mei’s feelings, so she throws caution to the wind and tugs playfully at her collar. “Nothing doing, I’m afraid,” she says. “I’m in _that_ kind of relationship.” She means kinky, not exclusive, but whichever interpretation Mei chooses will work just as well.

“Oh my gosh,” Mei laughs, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Why would you?” Wanda asks. “It’s hardly the usual. You’re very cute, but my domme, ah… I’m fairly sure she wants to be in charge of my…”

“Orgasms?” Mei supplies, looking amused. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve never had one but that’s the impression I get.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Wanda says.

“Dude, of course,” Mei chuckles. “Whatever you want. Should we get to the blood?”

“Let’s,” Wanda agrees, smiling.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that the actual act of feeding safely is sort of anticlimactic. Mei tastes sweet, she makes cute noises as Wanda sucks on her neck, and it’s easy to tell when it’s time to stop since Wanda knows the clues now. She pulls back when it’s necessary (though she has  fleeting moment of regret about this that she immediately chastises herself for) and she cleans Mei up and she walks her back into the party to make sure she’s okay (and a little to show that okayness off to Natasha and Darcy). And that’s… it. It hardly seems like something she should have been so afraid of for so long.

“Look at you,” Darcy says with a fond laugh. “You’re practically flushed. Fairy thing or feeding thing?”

“Successful feeding,” Wanda says proudly. “Mei is cool. Do you have her number?”

“Ooh, found a repeat customer?” Darcy teases.

“It’s actually - you’ll never believe it, she knows the girl I’ve been obsessed by,” Wanda says in a rush, shifting her attention to Natasha partway through because she’s not sure how much Darcy knows about the situation. “The girl from the bar. She’s in just as much trouble as I thought.”

Natasha grimaces. “Wonderful.”

“So I promised to keep her updated,” Wanda continues. “Mei, that is. The missing girl is her roommate, she’s called Hope.”

“That’s sort of ironic,” Darcy remarks, though with a dark edge in her voice.

“I know we can’t say it’s going to be alright,” Wanda adds, because Natasha has a face like she’s about to caution against just that, “but Mei deserves to know what happens. She’s one of the only people Hope has here, since Hope is from from Nebraska, and she was with Hope the night she disappeared so she feels a little responsible.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t get -” Natasha begins, and she’s clearly about to say “her hopes up” but she decides against it. “Optimistic. As long as she doesn’t get optimistic, keeping her up to date would be alright. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“And goodness knows, Natasha Romanoff is all about the polite thing,” Darcy says.

They don’t stay too long after that. Natasha starts dropping hints with the express intent of flustering and frustrating Wanda, and finally Darcy shoos them off, kissing them both goodbye and saying, “Go give this good girl her reward.”

“Oh, ‘reward’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” Natasha says, resting one hand on Wanda’s back in a way that makes her shiver. “Say thank you for a lovely evening, darling.”

“Thank you,” Wanda echoes sweetly, beaming at Darcy. “You throw a very nice party.”

“That’s my greatest dream,” Darcy says, so seriously that she’s obviously joking. “Night, weirdos.”


	4. and you know that I've been dreaming for a long time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their last night together (for this visit, anyway) Natasha treats Wanda to a lot of sex and a little sentimentality.

“I’m proud of you, feya,” Natasha murmurs, low in Wanda’s ear. “I knew you could do it.”

“Not if you hadn’t taught me,” Wanda says.

“I helped, but you chose to listen and to learn,” Natasha replies. “That’s the important part. You chose to be good.”

“I’ll always be good for you,” Wanda whispers.

“I know,” Natasha hums. “You’re very lovely, and I think it’s time for a reward.”

Wanda gasps involuntarily. “Duchess?”

“Can you keep yourself together until we’re home?” Natasha asks, grinning as she opens the car and ushers Wanda in.

“I’ve waited this long,” Wanda snarks.

“You’re goading me,” Natasha laments playfully, even though she was going to do this anyway. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the ring gag, adding, “Put it on, feya.”

Wanda is struck with the realization that it’s one thing to have Natasha fasten this on her, one beautiful thrilling thing, one way to lose control, but there’s a different weight to having to put it on herself. It’s complete surrender, and while she puts on her muzzle as protection, as a way to close herself off, this is pure, vulnerable exposure.

“Don’t deliberate, just do it,” Natasha chides, revving the engine. “There’s an insert and a padlock in the bag, too, put them on once you’re ready.”

Wanda swallows unnecessarily, imagining for a moment sitting in the passenger’s seat of Natasha’s expensive car with that bright red dildo sticking out of her mouth, and to quell that humiliating (exciting) image she positions the ring between her teeth quickly. The lock is easy enough to find, and she applies it neatly, in the hole just after the buckle, but since she’s thinking of silicone it takes her a minute to find the second piece.

“Little bag in the outside pocket,” Natasha says, not taking her eyes off the road.

So Wanda looks there and finds… she’s not sure what. It’s a small steel frame, like an oddly shaped belt buckle, with a hinge on one end.

“Slip it through the ring,” Natasha instructs. “The hinge will click onto the ring.”

Mystified, Wanda obeys, and all of a sudden her tongue is pressed very firmly down against the floor of her mouth. All she can say (she has to test it) is “ah” and “uh” and “oh” and “eh.”

“Mm, pretty,” Natasha says fondly, and still without looking, she traces the fingers of her right hand around Wanda’s parted lips and then dips them inside her mouth and gently caresses the inside of her cheeks and her metal-covered tongue. The gag offers her unrestricted access, and Wanda thinks suddenly that there might be more purpose to this than just limiting her backtalk.

This is what the rest of the drive is like, both of them testing the gag’s new limits. Wanda even reaches up to pull down the mirror and look at herself, finding the forced expression of awe and even shock on her face all too appropriate. She touches her lips in an imitation of the way Natasha did and sighs wistfully as Natasha, in turn, strokes where the gag strap meets Wanda’s soft skin.

By the time they’re finally back at the house, Natasha takes Wanda’s hand and leads her straight to the playroom. It seems something of a contradiction, walking side by side while Wanda’s mouth is so thoroughly bound, but it’s the kind of contradiction that reminds them that this is a game, that they’re equal in the ways that matter.

“I bet you’re wondering,” Natasha begins once she’s sat Wanda on the couch and gone to search for what she wants in the toy chests along the wall, “what I mean to do with your open mouth if I don’t want your tongue.”

Wanda tilts her head ambivalently. She can guess, because there are only so many things ring gags really facilitate, but it has to be Natasha’s to say, and not just because she herself _can’t_.

“Well,” Natasha continues, “see, I could just give you my fingers this first time, but that wouldn’t fill you up like I’m sure you want.”

Wanda mewls. The language is a bit raunchier than her own thoughts, but it’s not untrue. While she’d take anything at this point, she can tell Natasha is building to a reveal, to something spectacular. She wants spectacular.

“Besides, I don’t get off if I just finger you,” Natasha adds. “I _do_ get off with this.”

She turns around and displays a very obviously expensive strap-on harness. The dildo inserted in it is also, unsurprisingly (their aesthetics and color schemes match so nicely), red and there seems to be a clitoral stimulator at the end of it that will be up against Natasha.

“You see what I’m getting at, feya?” Natasha asks.

What she’s getting at is Wanda essentially getting throatfucked, giving the dildo the world’s most passive blowjob. Those aren’t Wanda’s favorite things, in truth, but mostly because she doesn’t enjoy the way real dicks taste or feel in her mouth very much. She’s not a selfish monster, she’ll do it if she’s sleeping with someone who has a dick and they go down on her too, but it’s not her favorite thing. Having Natasha thrust a silicone dick in her held-open mouth, presumably to moisten it before she actually fucks Wanda with it, doesn’t actually sound as unpleasant to her, mostly just from a sensory standpoint but also because, well. That’s certainly one way to claim her territory. Maybe she’ll even be able to get Natasha off indirectly.

She moves to her knees, expecting Natasha will want her to, but Natasha laughs and says, “First things first, pants off. The corset stays on.”

Wanda obliges, folding her pants neatly once they’re off and setting them on an ottoman. She didn’t wear any underwear tonight (why would she?) so that’s one less thing to worry about.

“Come here,” Natasha says. She’s stayed just where she is.

Wanda does, and first Natasha clips the leash onto her collar. Obviously Wanda doesn’t have a heart that beats, but she swears she can feel a phantom flutter in her chest.

“Good, good girl,” Natasha murmurs, and she hands Wanda a spreader bar. “Put it on.”

That’s apparently going to be a theme tonight, and Wanda doesn’t mind (for that earlier-noted, thrilling rush of extra submission) but she’s very aware of her own clumsiness as she puts the cuffs around her ankles and closes them, then attaches the bar.

“Mine,” Natasha whispers. “Don’t you feel like mine?”

Wanda nods, mewling.

“Can my girl come to me?” Natasha asks, moving toward what looks to Wanda like a padded leather sawhorse, something slightly too narrow to be a table and too tall to be a proper bench, but clearly designed for some purpose. This seems like a test.

Wanda mewls again. Walking spread wide, she soon learns, isn’t actually all that different from walking hobbled: it’s a series of very small, very careful steps. She’s so embarrassed and so, so aroused.

“Fold over it,” Natasha instructs, nodding encouragingly.

Wanda does, lining her hips up with the bench-thing longwise and, once she bends, noticing another set of cuffs hanging off the legs on the other side, also joined by a bar.

“Get one of those on yourself and I’ll help with the other,” Natasha says. “But first…” She attaches the bar between Wanda’s ankles to the structure.

Wanda squeals, though even that is distorted with her tongue pinned down, as that lock clicks. Between the position and the restraints, this is as vulnerable as she’s felt, and she sort of (really) loves it. Hurriedly she closes the cuff around her left wrist, already panting a bit; these aren’t placed as far down as her ankles are, which makes sense, but it also means she’s exactly at the right level for the impending blowjob. She’s positioned as if she’s leaning forward in anticipation, which in her heart she truly is.

“Perfect,” Natasha whispers, kissing Wanda’s right wrist before she fastens it in place. “It’s exhilarating, knowing that a powerful woman like you will let me have you as my pretty girltoy.”

Wanda shivers, and when Natasha circles around to stand in front of her, silicone dick in hand, she whines as loud as she can.

“So impatient,” Natasha teases.’

 _Of course I am_ , Wanda wants to shout, _you’ve been edging me for a week!_ But she can’t say that. All she can muster are plaintive vowel noises. Natasha understands, though.

“Do you want to suck me, milashka?” Natasha asks, and after Wanda whimpers something like a “yes” so sweetly, she slides the dildo through the ring in Wanda’s mouth.

For a moment she just lets Wanda adjust to the feel of the toy filling her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, pressing down even harder on her tongue. She knows that Wanda will try to speak, just to see how much she can’t, and she more or less knows that the most that will be audible is a soft “unhh” kind of sound. Wanda looks like she’s fine with this, though, so Natasha is also fine and she takes it as a cue to begin gently fucking Wanda’s face.

(It turns out such a thing _can_ be done gently. Wanda’s sort of surprised.)

It’s a little overwhelming at first, being so strictly bound in such a position and being used so thoroughly, having no responsibility but to be available. Her eyes start to glaze, then they shut for longer and longer as she sinks under.

She’s not sure how much time has passed when Natasha reaches out to tug on her leash, forcing her chin up and changing the angle of the toy. “Open,” Natasha says.

Wanda’s eyes flutter open, and if it wasn’t already clear how deep she was in subspace, this would prove it instantly. She blinks at Natasha, guileless and trusting.

“If I don’t want you to look, you’ll be blindfolded,” Natasha continues sternly, though she’s trying not to smile. “Keep that in mind.”

Wanda nods.

“Right now, sweet feya,” Natasha continues, starting to slowly thrust her hips again, “I want to see as I make you mine. This right here?” She reaches to trace a finger around Wanda’s lips. “Your mouth? This is mine. Your lips, your tongue, your jaw, your throat, your voice. All mine.”

Wanda gives a stifled whimper in agreement.

“I know you like your mouth being mine,” Natasha continues. “You as much as told me so before we even knew each other properly.” Wanda nods as best she can. That’s what she wanted and what she’s come to treasure.  “I think it’s finally time to make the rest of your body mine too.”

Wanda screams her yes.

Natasha grins wolfishly before separating Wanda from the bench at vampire speed and flipping her around. “You’re beautiful whether you’re tied tight or all spread out for me,” she declares, and then just as fast (so Wanda barely has a chance to register) she refastens Wanda’s ankles so they’re face to face and suspends the bar between her arms from the ceiling. Her mouth is still open, but after a moment Natasha unclips the tongue depressor and sets it aside, adding, “You know what could happen, but I prefer kissing without that in the way.”

Instinctively Wanda flexes her tongue and tries to smile around her gag, and after a second she remembers her manners and muddles through a “thank you, Duchess.”

“Nod if you’re ready to be all mine,” Natasha murmurs.

It’s entirely possible that Wanda has never nodded this fast in her life.

“Good girl,” Natasha says, and she thrusts into Wanda just as she kisses her full on the mouth. Wanda can’t really kiss back, of course, but she can at least move her tongue against Natasha’s, and that little thing feels like the most beautiful freedom. She moves her hips against Natasha’s too, chasing whatever bit of contact she can manage.

“You’re always reactive,” Natasha muses, one hand coming to stroke the top of Wanda’s breasts, teasing where the corset doesn’t cover, “and right now you’re nothing but. All you can do is experience this, experience what I’m doing to make you feel good.”

Wanda moans, pushes her chest into Natasha’s hand, and whimpers in the affirmative. She does feel good, she’s never felt this good in her life. She even tries to say “you take wonderful care of me,” but of course it comes out a mess.

Natasha may not pick up the exact words, but she gets the sentiment, and she kisses Wanda’s cheek right above the gag’s strap and chuckles. “You’re welcome, feya,” she says. “You need someone like me, hm?”

Wanda tilts her head. She wants clarification before she agrees, even though she knows she’s going to.

“Someone you can give yourself to,” Natasha supplies. “All the way. Someone who can give you all you need, but someone who understands that part of what you need is to let go.”

Yes, this sums it up perfectly.

But just as Wanda is nodding and agreeing as best she can, Natasha interrupts with a cry of pleasure. “I’m not going to dispute that this toy is working really well for me,” she remarks, “or that the noise I just made wasn’t because of that, but don’t worry, milashka, I think I could get off just on watching you, too. You’re stunning.”

She drags her fingernails down Wanda’s suspended arms, not hard enough to draw blood but definitely hard enough to leave marks, at least for a little while; just as she expected, this makes Wanda shriek.

“Pretty,” Natasha croons. “More of that, hm? I want to hear how much you like this.”

Without even fully noticing, Wanda stammers out a correction: “not like, love.” Natasha can at least hear the difference in vowels, and she understands. She’s normally reticent about that more serious l-word, Natasha is, but she’s been expecting it from Wanda since the first night. The girl is young and sentimental and passionate. It’s not bad, just different.

Instead of ruining the moment to muse on this, though, Natasha just smirks. She’s always been changeable, though she only shifts nowadays if she wants to do, and what she really meant that Wanda needs is a good domme, the kind that can be commanding but never cruel, that understands that while Wanda’s desire to submit isn’t absolute and it doubtless has limits it’s not purely sexual (which is the case with lots of casual subs, for example), that will be gentle even while pushing her. She wants the kind of domme that looks for reasons to praise instead of punish, the kind that binds and bosses out of genuine care.

It’s not what all of Natasha’s markedly submissive lovers want, and in truth it’s not Natasha’s default, but she’s glad to do it. She likes how it makes her feel to make others - to make Wanda, currently - feel good. (In part this is because she didn’t always believe she had or deserved goodness, but she won’t admit that.)

“Do you like being at my mercy?” Natasha asks in a low voice, breaking the thoughtful silence. “Helpless while I touch you?”

Wanda coos a “yes,” though of course her liking this is in large part reliant on Natasha doing all of those unspoken wonderful things. She would resist being even a fraction as helpless with someone she didn’t trust and care deeply about. If her accursed Maker had tried this, she’d have killed him even sooner. But Natasha understands her, what she wants and needs and oh, just how to play her like a fiddle. Her whole body feels like one oversensitive, vibrating nerve and she _loves_ it.

There’s not much conversation for a while, as Natasha fucks Wanda expertly and strokes every bit of her skin, as whines spill through Wanda’s open mouth and she shifts and pulls and pushes against the leather and chain trapping her in place. Sure, they aren’t quiet, either of them, but this is a dance, not a dialogue.

And then all of a sudden Natasha’s hips stutter and she moans, “My good girl, malishka, my sweet feyri-kin.”

Wanda blinks in surprise. She’d somehow forgotten about the stimulation on Natasha’s end (her entire world right now is what she sees directly in front of her and what she feels) and before she realizes it she’s letting out a confused whimper. What has she done to deserve those endearments now?

Natasha notices this, and once she’s calmed she brushes Wanda’s cheek and says, “You’re being so good. Patient and eager and so open.”

Wanda feels a blush that isn’t really there rise in her cheeks. She wants to please, but now that Natasha has said “patient” she’s reminded of what she’s being patient _for_ , and that, well.

That makes her very _im_ patient.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Natasha soothes. “It’s your turn now, milashka, don’t worry.”

And she resumes her earlier, near-frantic pace, adding fingers on Wanda’s clit. Wanda wails and her hips buck and her hands tighten and -

She just lets go.

“Good girl,” Natasha murmurs, and her voice is very far away. Wanda’s whole body, her whole being, is overcome with aftershocks; all she feels capable of doing is moaning and shaking and whimpering and wavering. She’s had orgasms before, obviously, but this - after all of the waiting and teasing, with all the restraint and submission - is something unparalleled. This is beautiful and overwhelming and so _much_ , and she wants to live in it forever.

When Natasha starts to unfasten her ankles from the bar, Wanda makes a disconsolate noise, begging not to come down yet, and Natasha _tsks_ in her ear, somehow soothing and scolding all at once.

“I know what I’m doing,” she whispers. “And I’m very far from finished.”

With that, she sits Wanda atop the bench. The chain holding her arms just twists with her, and her ankles are attached to the legs of the bench, knees bent. More cuffs are added right above her knees, too, securing her further.

“Duchess,” Wanda tries to say, sounding rather pitiful, “you can’t touch me like this.”

Natasha grins and produces more straps and a giant vibrator. “You get to come for me more, but I’m going to sit back and watch,” she says, and she snugs the vibrator up against Wanda’s clit. “Ready, set… go.”

Wanda is sure she’ll die of this, but at least she’ll go happy.

 

* * *

 

She doesn’t have a sense of how long she’s strapped there, vibrator against her hips. She barely has a sense of herself and her own thoughts beyond a sense of _more_. She doesn’t think she can take more, sometimes, but what other choice is there?

And Natasha? Natasha just sits back and watches like she promised. At first she speaks to Wanda, compliments and suggestions and a few questions (ones like “do you know how beautiful you are right now?”) and little things mostly meant to remind Wanda that she’s not alone. She tells Wanda to keep her eyes open, so Wanda does, but the deeper she falls the harder that is, and eventually Natasha just lets her go all the way down. It really is a sight, this often-anxious girl coming apart without inhibition, rolling her hips and crying out over and over and not even realizing it.

It’s only when Wanda starts sounding hoarse and tears start slipping down her cheeks that Natasha goes to undo her bindings. She’s slow and deliberate, trying not to startle; she pets Wanda’s skin and hair and lets her flop against the bench as much as she needs to. She’s not surprised that Wanda turns into a ragdoll after orgasms (especially that many). It’s actually rather cute.

Wanda doesn’t come back into herself all the way until they’re safe and cozy in Natasha’s bed. She’s not bound, but the blankets are heavy enough on her to feel secure, and her corset has been removed so she’s all the way naked. They’re _both_ naked, she notices a second later, and against Natasha’s skin hers feels burning. It’s like the most glorious hangover she’s ever had.

“Hello,” Natasha murmurs. Wanda’s head is in her lap, and she runs her fingers through the girl’s hair affectionately. “Are you back here with me, feya?”

Wanda nods, and she opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. She tries again and it’s just a low huff, then half a groan. So her voice doesn’t want to be used, not right now. She’s not really surprised somehow.

She looks apologetically at Natasha, though, eyebrows knitting together, and she lets out a sigh of relief when Natasha just smiles and kisses her on the mouth. “I thought that might happen,” she says, and she reaches to the bedside table.

At first Wanda thinks it’ll be her muzzle, but what Natasha holds up is a roll of off-white tape. “It’s not my favorite for scenes, but it can be good for comedown,” she says. “It’s soft, I promise.”

Wanda barely has to consider it before she nods. She has a brief fantasy of covering herself from nose to throat in the stuff, imitating that same muzzle but gentler somehow, but she knows that’s not what’s appropriate now. Instead she lets Natasha tear off a long single strip of tape and press it across her face, reaching almost from ear to ear. It’s soft as promised, a little pillowy even, and it’s adhesive enough to seal her lips shut. Yes, for now it’s just right.

“Good, milashka?” Natasha asks, dragging a finger across the outline of Wanda’s lips. She knows, she can tell, she’s sort of playing, but she likes that Wanda nods anyway. “Then I think it’s time we work some things out.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow.

“It’s obvious that you’re one of mine now,” Natasha explains, “but it’s doubly so that what that looks like is different than how Jemma or Darcy or for that matter your fathers are mine.”

Somehow it hasn’t hit Wanda until now that the men she now thinks of as fathers, more or less, have in fact been intimate with the woman she’s now been intimate with. She’s known it, but she’s just now realizing the absurdity of the situation. Steve and Sam love her as a daughter, but they love Natasha as a lover, and they love each other as lovers, and they love Bucky as a lover, but Bucky loves Natasha _and_ Wanda (who he is definitely not a father to) as lovers, and - it’s suddenly hilarious. As in, it’s causing actual uncontrollable giggling.

“Not quite the reaction I expected,” Natasha jokes. “Let me guess. You’re mulling over the strangeness of vampire families?”

Wanda nods, bringing a hand to her mouth as she tries to stifle her (already stifled) giggles. Then she feels the tape and can’t help but trace over it with reverence and fascination: it mutes feelings like the latex did on her body, but it creates a strange sort of sensitivity too.

“You really do enjoy this,” Natasha remarks, watching her. “This new way to be sealed shut.”

Wanda taps on Natasha’s Natasha’s thigh. “With you,” she means. It’s safe with Natasha, like a protection from unpleasant responsibility, and she likes how soft this feels compared to the other gags. She loves those, she does, but this is for a different kind of moment.

“I’m trying to think of ways to keep giving you what you need even if we’re apart,” Natasha muses. “You need a little more than most of mine, I think.” Wanda looks embarrassed by this, so Natasha hurries to add, “That’s not bothersome, milashka, you just work your way and they work theirs.”

Wanda seems satisfied with this, and she relaxes once more against her Duchess’ lap to prove it.

“I just thought of an idea you might like,” Natasha says. “What if every morning before you went to ground, you took a piece of this and covered your mouth for me? Not because I think you’d do anything wrong with it, but because I know you enjoy that your mouth is mine.”

That makes Wanda shiver, and she nods. Yes, she’d like doing this, and yes, her mouth is Natasha’s. All of her is.

“You wouldn’t have to if you were with company, but you could if you wanted,” Natasha continues. “And before you sleep, you could take a picture to show me.”

Wanda sighs contentedly, but then she has a thought. She must be feeling bold, because she taps her own temple, then reaches for Natasha’s. “Can I show you something?” she means, and mercifully Natasha nods. The image she shares is of two photographs, both of Wanda with her mouth taped: one has sunlight filtering through the windows, like it’s almost daytime (such things don’t affect Wanda, being part-fae, but she generally keeps vampire hours), while the other is clearly from nightfall. What it means (and Natasha puts this together after a moment) is “shouldn’t I take pictures when I wake up, too?”

Natasha laughs warmly. “To prove you followed through,” she says. “Clever feya. Yes, you can do that if you like.”

Wanda tries for a smile and hums a “thank you, Duchess” before settling down again.

“And to return to the subject of other company,” Natasha adds, “I don’t care who you see. I truly don’t. You can even seek other dominants if you like. You can tell me if you care to, but I won’t be jealous unless we’re physically together. The rest of the time you can do what you like. Life after life is too long for monogamy, and goodness knows I don’t practice it myself.”

This doesn’t really surprise Wanda, but it’s still good to hear. Much as, for example, she cares for Bucky and wants to get to know Darcy better, she knows that if Natasha wished it she _would_ give her - well, not monogamy, they already have that proposed ménage à quatre with Daisy and Jemma planned - but she’d give her authority over her liaisons. If that’s what Natasha, as her Duchess, wanted that would be what she did, because Natasha is special in a way nobody else will likely be, but it’s nice to have options.

“I won’t insist on knowing when you touch yourself, either,” Natasha says, smiling far too sweetly, “but I won’t complain about knowing, either. Would you like it if I asked you to touch yourself for me sometimes?”

Wanda purrs in the back of her throat. She knows that unless she’s feeding, fucking, or on a _very_ tight schedule, she’d drop anything to pleasure herself if Natasha asked. (It’s not exactly a hardship, no matter.)

“Though,” Natasha says, too casual like she’s about to reveal the catch, “I may ask you _not_ to touch yourself, if we have a rendez-vous coming up. Waiting certainly made it sweeter for you this time, and I do love the thought of you squirming and begging.”

Wanda makes a face that suggests she needs clarification.

“I’m never going to have you in chastity or anything like that,” Natasha says, “that’s not my style. But I’ll trust you not to misbehave if I ask, and if you don’t trust yourself, there are ways to avoid it. I can send those gloves home with you.”

The ones that end in a thumbless mitten, she means. The thought of wearing them, presumably for days, as she waits to see Natasha again humiliates and thrills Wanda in equal measure.

“I know you won’t be able to get them on yourself,” Natasha murmurs with a wicked smirk, “but Bucky could help, maybe. He understands.”

That’s even more exciting, the thought of him being involved in this game, but it also brings up another possible issue, and with a question in her eyes, Wanda passes along another image, this one of her being propositioned.

“I suppose I couldn’t stop you,” Natasha says thoughtfully, “but you could just tell them the truth, that you’re on strict orders not to orgasm until your Duchess says. You could kiss them, though, that would be alright, or you could get _them_ off. That’s up to you.”

Wanda is wide-eyed, having not put that together somehow. She doesn’t want to think too much about it yet, so she burrows closer against Natasha and tries to be very sweet.

“I think I’d like to see you at least once a month,” Natasha muses. “Do you agree?”

Wanda nods eagerly, her lips twitching under the tape.

“We don’t live so far apart, it shouldn’t be difficult,” Natasha says. “Maybe sometime we could go out with you like this, with the microfoam. I can still see the shape of your pretty mouth underneath it, even though at a distance it would just be blank space. It’s like you have a secret, just for me.”

This makes Wanda go shy, but she’s clearly pleased. The fact that Natasha is so fond of her means the world, but that Natasha doesn’t mind, even adores, her mouth despite its (and by association her voice’s) dysfunction and foibles is the cherry on top. Natasha thinks she’s beautiful with strange things in or over her mouth, and Natasha thinks she’s beautiful no matter if she has a voice.

“But you’re starting to look drowsy,” Natasha says, sighing playfully. “Flip over, will you?”

Wanda rolls onto her stomach, a little mystified. Especially with that preface, she doesn’t expect another orgasm, but she’s still just fuzzy-headed enough that she can’t imagine what else could happen. Natasha makes her intentions clear soon enough, though, straddling Wanda’s hips and starting to massage her shoulders.

“Aftercare,” Natasha says, just in case Wanda doesn’t know. “You’ve more than earned it.”

Wanda giggles again and lets herself sink into the bed. Of course this is perfect, everything else has been.

 

* * *

 

Steve grew up in the city, so it’s natural that his forever home is in the historic heart of downtown, this fixer-upper brownstone with old-fashioned charm (as they’d say on television). He and Sam and Bucky have done the majority of the fixing-up themselves, converting the old apartments into one giant home. There are enough bedrooms for each of them and Wanda to have their own (even if some combination, usually involving the boys, usually shares space) and for there to be plenty of room for more temporary wayward souls.

It’s maybe two hours from Natasha’s mansion, which by sheer virtue of its size is in the kind of posh suburb where you have to squint to see your nearest neighbor. It’s the privacy she values more than the space, but given all that she’s amassed in her centuries of life the space is useful too. It’s also nearer the airport than the boys’ place, which means they can stop by to get Wanda on their way home.

Bucky’s the one to pick Steve and Sam up, of course, and when Sam’s phone rings just as they’re pulling into Natasha’s driveway he slinks out of the car and lets himself into the house. (It really is nice, Natasha thinks, seeing how he’s gone from skittish to downright smug in the years she’s known him. Nice enough she can’t even chide him too much for presuming.)

It’s a good thing he’s the first one inside, since Natasha and Wanda are snuggling on the couch, halfway-reading a magazine, and Wanda’s mouth is still taped.

“M’I interrupting?” he asks with a smirk.

The women look at each other and shrug before Natasha shifts around to pull the tape from Wanda’s lips gently, then kiss her there. Wanda’s still not verbal (privately she thinks that it may be because she’s going to be upset to leave, even if she knows they’ll see each other again soon; that and she doesn’t want to do something to ruin the end of such a wonderful week) but Natasha doesn’t care. She’s working with it, and Wanda loves her for it.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha says to Bucky, tossing her hair. “This is just how it is sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, turning his smile gentler and aiming it at Wanda. “I’m just used to there being more leather involved.”

“Usually is,” Natasha shrugs. “We were just trying something different. She looked cute like that, didn’t she?”

“Of course,” Bucky replies, pretending to be offended that she even had to ask. “I’m guessing you two had a good time, judging by…”

Wanda nods, idly grabbing a pillow to hold onto. She’s feeling a little shy about having everyone in the same place, her family and her lovers that is, but she expected that. Everyone is patient with her, though, and that’s what matters.

And to punctuate that thought, Steve and Sam come wandering in, waving.

It’s so awkward and silly that Natasha chortles. “You dorks,” she says, rising (with Wanda on her heels) and giving both of them and then Bucky kisses (while Wanda hovers behind them looking like she finds this all hilarious). “You really do act like dads, it’s charming.”

Steve rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just didn’t wanna barge in,” he says, which means that if it was just Natasha at home he and Sam might have come in and gone straight for kisses themselves but it would be strange with Wanda present.

“Hey, Nat, hey, Wanda,” Sam chimes in, chuckling when Wanda waves back like she’s parodying them. “You have a good visit?”

As Wanda nods again, Bucky remarks, “Yeah, it seemed like a _real_ good visit, very satisfying.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at Natasha, then Wanda, then Natasha again. “That so?”

“She isn’t your biological daughter, Wilson,” Natasha snarks, rolling her eyes. “It’s not weird, and besides, she started it.”

“I don’t have an issue with it,” Sam retorts. “Just tryin’ to figure out how much we gotta prepare to tune out, literally or otherwise.”

That makes Wanda snicker behind her hand. She never got to embarrass her real parents like this, and she’s finding it novel and amusing.

“The usual amount, you’ll live,” Natasha says, and then abruptly she changes the subject. “You have a good trip? You didn’t pick up any more strays, did you?”

This time it’s Steve who glances at Wanda, mostly to make sure she’s not bothered by the implication that she herself is or was a stray. (He’s always attentive, perhaps sometimes too much so, to Wanda’s moods, but if she’s nonverbal he’s doubly so.) But she looks interested and almost mischievous, so he shrugs and replies, “It was the same old stuff, cleaning up messes and doing general good. You’d have been bored to tears.” He doesn’t look it, but he can give shit with the best of them.

“I prefer doing good more one-on-one, what can I say?” Natasha laughs, reaching to give Wanda’s hand a fond squeeze. (Wanda needs softness, but the boys all know it does Natasha good to give it, too.) “And on that note, we were successful this week. Mostly she was.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, even as Wanda nods eagerly.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, looking unbelievably proud. “Feya, why don’t you tell them?”

All of the boys look slightly confused, because it’s clear Wanda isn’t talking right now and she’s not typing anything on her phone or signing. (The latter is more unusual, if just because Steve and Sam don’t know much of the hybrid Romanian-Russian sign language she learned as a child and Bucky isn’t always there to translate, nor does he know enough that he can always manage.) But, but -

Suddenly there’s a picture in Steve’s mind, one of Wanda feeding on Mei and then pulling back to make sure all is well before they get up. In other words, she’s using one of her new tricks to give proof of the other.

“What’s up?” asks Sam, who doesn’t currently see anything but Wanda reaching toward Steve tentatively.

“Let her,” Steve says, sounding awed.

“Go on,” Natasha encourages, setting a hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

So Wanda does, worrying her lip as she transfers the image to Sam, then Bucky. While they’re still in shock, she _does_ whip out her phone to type: _Sorry, I can’t do it with more than one person at a time yet_.

“What are you apologizing for?” Steve asks. “That’s incredible. Terrifying, but incredible.”

Sam laughs, though he does sound a little nervous. “Is that how it works with you and humans?”

Wanda nods, signing, “I’d do that with my brother.”

Once Bucky translates, the boys all glance at each other in understanding. None of them exactly love the surprise of someone else in their mind, putting things there, but they know she’s telling them it’s a two-way show of trust, that save this first demonstration she would only do it with their express permission. They can see the value of that, and it _is_ a useful skill if used correctly.

“She figured out how to work with vampire minds,” Natasha says. “Jemma helped, because of course she did. She can pull thoughts or images out of minds, too, but I’m guessing you’re not too keen on that.”

“Not right now,” Steve says, though he’s careful to be kind about it. “But it it needs to be done, it’s good she knows she can do it now. How does it work?”

Wanda shrugs, signing, “Type it?” After Bucky nods - he can guess this is going to be more complicated than he can sort out - she types: _Just like it does with humans, but it’s more difficult. It’s a lot of focusing. I don’t pick up ambient noise from vampires, but if I focus on one vampire’s specific mind hard enough it can be done._

“That’s a lot to take in,” Sam admits.

Wanda signs, and Bucky translates, “She won’t do it unless you tell her she can.”

“We know,” Steve promises. “But thank you for telling us anyway.”

After a little more smalltalk (mostly about the trip and what Steve and Sam were up to, because it’s polite) Sam looks at his watch and says, “It’s getting close to sunrise, we oughta head out.”

“That okay?” Bucky adds, specifically asking Wanda.

If she doesn’t find the strength to go now, she’s not going to be able to. It’s ridiculous, feeling this intensely attached to Natasha after such a short while; it’s ridiculous, feeling this distraught about saying goodbye to someone who’s only two hours away that she knows she’ll see again in no time at all. She’s in stupid, overwhelming love, though. That’s the only way she can explain it. She’s fairly sure the feeling isn’t entirely reciprocated, because even if Natasha loves her, or could love her, Natasha doesn’t seem capable of experiencing any stupid, overwhelming feelings. That’s not bad, it’s just - something to take note of, and more pressingly, it’s a very good reason not to beg to stay longer. She doesn’t want to wear out her welcome.

(She’d know that wasn’t possible if she went digging in Natasha’s mind, but she didn’t ask if she could, so she doesn’t.)

“It’s a good idea,” Wanda signs, trying to look brave.

“We’ll get your stuff out to the car,” Bucky says, nodding for Steve to get one of her bags and for Sam to get the door. He can sense that the women need to have a moment.

“Meet us out there,” Sam adds, nodding. “See you, Tasha.”

“Bye, boys,” Natasha says, waving as they all three traipse out. And then it’s just her and Wanda again, the moment heavy between them.

“Thank you, Duchess,” Wanda signs, because she’s taught Natasha that much already.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replies, “but all I did was help you realize you had capabilities you’ve always had.”

Wanda shakes her head - “not all,” specifically the sexual things. There’s not much point arguing, though, and instead of doing she moves in to kiss Natasha’s cheek. That’s better than words right now, spoken or signed or written or even just thought. That says all she wants to.

Natasha turns her head after a moment, notices red starting to rim Wanda’s eyes, and she kisses Wanda full on the mouth, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t be sad, milashka,” she says. “I’m not far if you need me, and we’ll see each other soon. Weekend after next, hm?”

That’s what they agreed on, so Wanda nods.

“Besides, it’s not like we won’t be in touch,” Natasha adds, smirking. “I expect that picture when you get home, for one.”

Wanda giggles and nods again before taking her phone out and typing: _Can I show you something? Well, tell?_

“Of course,” Natasha says.

So Wanda takes a breath she doesn’t need and focuses for a minute. There’s no one image that she can think of for this, so she settles on just projecting a version of the voice she can’t currently summon: “You make me happy in a way I’d forgotten I could be.”

Natasha brushes a little tear from Wanda’s cheek. “I’m glad,” she says. “I’m honored, quite frankly. And most of all, I’m happy too. You’re special, feya. That’s been clear from the start.”

Wanda gives a happy little wiggle, wipes whatever remains of her own tears away, and glances toward the door. The boys will be waiting, she means.

“It’s alright,” Natasha promises. “It won’t be long, and you don’t need to rush anything. We have forever, right?”

They do, and the thought makes Wanda grin. She kisses Natasha again and then runs for the door before she can talk herself out of it, and she’s still buoyant once she gets into the car.

“This looks good on you,” Bucky remarks, glancing at her in the rearview. “Whatever you’re feeling right now.”

“Love,” Wanda signs for him, and he doesn’t even need to translate for the others to understand.


End file.
